


Magic In His Eyes

by MissYuki1990



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Animagus Harry, Bestiality, Blood, Drama, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff, Knotting, M/M, Mating, Minor Character Death, Moral Ambiguity, Mystery, Nemeton, OC, OOC, Panic Attacks, Scars, Slash, Smut, Violence, explicit content, possible triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:59:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 151,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissYuki1990/pseuds/MissYuki1990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“Harry?” John asked in a wavering voice, and Agent Potter turned around to face him slowly, clasping his hands behind his back as the right corner of his lips tilted up, eyes warming noticeably as a soft snort left his nose, and he stood at attention, saluting the Sheriff jokingly.</em><br/>“Hey, John,” he greeted, waving his right hand. “It’s been a while.”<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Old Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Velena Velaryon for being the best human in the world! Love you sweetie! Thank you for fixing my mistakes and making this story readable. XD

**Disclaimer:** I claim no rights to the characters of Teen Wolf and Harry Potter. They belong to Jeff Davis and J. K. Rowling respectively.

 **Warnings:** slash, explicit content, violence, blood, angst, drama, knotting, OOC, AU, moral ambiguity, scars, possible triggers

**This will start at the end of season 3b and continue on into the fourth season of Teen Wolf, which I will NOT comment on. Consider this a thorough FIXING of the fourth season with the sweet joy of having Harry James Potter joining the fun.**

**Enjoy!**

**cut**

The sound of a door being slammed closed echoed through the silence of the forest. Fallen autumn leaves crunched under military style boots, and it appeared as though all forest life ceased to move and produce sound as the newcomer stepped away from the sleek, black  _Hyundai Genesis_  parked in front of a burned down structure that was once the house of the biggest and strongest werewolf pack in Beacon Hills.

Eyes the color of grass in early spring gazed at the sorry sight with undeniable sorrow and weariness, and a grave sigh passed pouty, rose-colored lips as their owner pushed gloved hands in the pockets of a black leather jacket. A gust of cold wind danced around him and he hunched his shoulders to brace against the chill; taking slow, cautious steps towards the house.

The burnt floorboards of the front porch creaked under his heavy footsteps, and eyes trained to pick out the smallest of details roved over everything in clinical detachment. Thin, black eyebrows narrowed as he catalogued every single piece of information into his mind for later analyzing.

He entered the house, looking around, the frown marring his face growing darker as he walked into the living room, tracing the claw marks he found in one of the burned wooden pillars with the tips of his fingers before he brought the hand to his face and rubbed his lips in quiet agitation.

"Fuck it," he cursed under his breath, emerald gaze turning glassy, and he turned on his heel and all but ran out of the house, only years of experience and hard self-control stopping him from dropping his keys as he hurried to get into his car. He slammed the door closed, breathing as though he ran a marathon, gloved hands fisting around the wheel as he leaned forward and rested his forehead on the hard leather. He closed his eyes, breathing in through his nose before breathing out through his mouth, his legs hopping anxiously and every muscle in his body cramping up.

He let go of a choked up scream, straightened and slammed his fists against the steering wheel as tears he could no longer suppress trailed down pale cheeks.

"FUCK!" he roared, hitting his head back against the headrest, teeth bared as soul searing, choked up gasps passed his parted lips, and he fisted his hands on his forehead, gasping for air as he struggled to calm down. He pushed black, short tresses back with his hands before he rubbed his eyes to chase the tears away, and with jerky motions he started the engine, swallowing audibly and sniffing as tears refused to stop falling. He drove off of the Hale property and made his way into town, knowing that there was only one way for him to find out what happened.

He had to pay a visit to an old acquaintance.

**cut**

Every single head in the Beacon Hills Police Station turned and all conversation ceased when the front door opened to let in a man no one had ever seen before. The stranger stood at a respectable height, black leather giving him a dark, dangerous look and accentuating the cool pallor of his skin. Black, stylish glasses concealed his eyes, and short raven hair danced around his head, practically defying gravity in its wildness.

He pushed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and strutted over to the front desk, the police officer sitting behind it forcing herself to snap her mouth shut when the man raised his right hand and slipped his glasses off of the handsome face, looking at her with emerald eyes which seemed to see straight through to her soul.

"Good day," he spoke in a low, raspy, heavily accented voice; glancing around with that sharp gaze and making everyone turn away, feeling as though they were physically hit.

"Good day," answered officer Natasha Portman, licking her lips and straightening as she tried to offer the handsome stranger a smile.

"Does John Stilinski still work here?" he asked, bracing his left forearm on the desk, and Natasha cleared her throat, her eyes widening minutely and her senses tingling when the scent of the man's aftershave washed over her.

"You mean Sheriff Stilinski?" she blurted out and the man cocked an eyebrow, seeming slightly taken aback.

"Should be the same man," he said and Natasha nodded minutely. "Last time I've seen him he was still a deputy."

"Should I inform him that you're here to see him?" she asked.

"Is he here?" asked the handsome stranger, glancing towards the door leading into the back of the station where the office of the sheriff was stationed.

"He just came in." Natasha offered a wavering smile and the stranger's lips tilted up, although it lacked any mirth or happiness.

"Tell him Agent Potter's here to see him," he said and straightened folding the glasses he held in his right hand before he tucked them into the inside pocket of his jacket, his gloved hands catching Natasha's attention before he tucked them inside the front pockets. "If he still remembers me, that is." The mysterious agent added dryly and turned his back on Natasha, walking over to the announcement board to give her time to fetch the Sheriff.

Natasha swallowed audibly and hurried around the front desk, all but running to the Sheriff's office, not really knowing what made her so anxious. The only thing she knew was that the man was something she had never encountered before.

And she didn't believe she ever wanted.

**cut**

"Are you two absolutely  _sure_  it's over?" John asked, looking at the sheepish faces of his son and his best friend.

Stiles and Scott exchanged a glance, with Stiles jerkily shrugging his shoulders, hands twitching on the armrests of the chair, his legs hopping in obvious anxiety, and Scott looked at the Sheriff again, chocolate brown eyes grave and yet full of relief at the same time.

"It's over," said the young alpha, nodding his head in confidence over their hard earned victory from dealing with their latest enemy. "The Nogitsune is gone. We've made sure of it."

John let go of a long sigh, sagging in his seat as he rubbed his face with his hands before they flopped onto the armrests of his chair and he huffed, lips tilting up into a smile full of relief as he looked at his son who licked his lips and shifted in his seat, trying to meet his father's gaze even though he kept glancing around the office anxiously.

"I'm just glad to have my son back," John spoke in a raspy voice and Stiles stilled completely while Scott hummed and smiled warmly at his best friend.

"It's good to be back, dad," Stiles answered, voice strained and broken, and John took a deep breath as he sat up in his chair.

"As much as I don't want to do this, I should really get down to…" three sharp knocks interrupted the Sheriff and the three men looked at the doorway. Officer Portman rushed in, not even waiting for an answer, and the three frowned at her winded appearance and wide eyes. "Portman?" John stood to his feet, hand immediately reaching for the gun resting on his table while Scott took a hold of Stiles' hand as though he was ready to pull Stiles behind himself and protect him at all cost.

"Sheriff, there's…" Natasha gulped and licked her lips, glancing around the office and over her shoulder before she looked at John, taking a deep breath before she spoke again. "There's a man here asking for you. He said he's Agent Potter."

Stiles and Scott looked at John, their eyes widening at the sight that met them. At first John looked confused, squinting at Natasha with lips slightly parted, and then his eyes widened, mouth falling open, and a sharp breath left his lips.

"Did you say Agent  _Potter_?" he asked in clarification, letting go of the gun. Stiles glanced at Scott, completely taken aback by his father's choked up, hopeful tone. More than a little confused he and Scott engaged in a short wordless conversation on the matter that consisted on raised brows and small shoulder lifts. It ended with Stiles giving Scott and small head shake.

"Yes sir," Natasha answered, nodding her head fervently. "I'm positive he said Agent Potter."

A moment later Natasha had to jump to the side, because John literally ran around the table, almost tripping on the trash-bin in his hurry to leave his office. Had she not moved she almost certainly would have been taken down in the man's great haste to part from his office.

"Dad!" Stiles jumped to his feet and ran after John with Scott following close behind, and Natasha stood in the doorway for a minute, wondering what the hell happened. Curiosity won over though and she hurried out of the office, stopping in her tracks when Deputy Parrish called out to her.

"What happened?" The young officer asked with mild concern lacing his tongue as he put his gun in its holster, taking a gentle hold of Natasha's right forearm.

"There's a man here asking for Sheriff Stilinski, and…" she swallowed and shook her head. "See for yourself!" she snapped and ran away, Parrish following close behind.

They ran out into the front and stopped in their tracks right behind Stiles and Scott who stood several feet away from the Sheriff, all of them staring at the still figure standing in front of the announcement board apparently utterly at ease despite the tense atmosphere in the station.

"Harry?" John asked in a wavering voice, and  _Agent Potter_  turned around to face him slowly, clasping his hands behind his back as the right corner of his lips tilted up, eyes warming noticeably as a soft snort left his nose, and he stood at attention, saluting the Sheriff jokingly.

"Hey, John," he greeted, waving his right hand. "It's been a while."

Silence reigned over the room for a long moment, the Sheriff and the Agent standing at a stand still, and then it all broke. John let go of a sharp gasp and all but ran towards Harry, wrapping his arms around him in a tight, warm, welcoming hug.

Agent Potter appeared taken aback for a moment, but then he let go of a tight-lipped, quiet laugh and returned the hug, clapping John's back a few times before John pulled back and cupped Harry's face within a firm hold.

John's gaze darted over Harry's face, taking in each subtle change and he patted Harry's right cheek while the agent gave John's forearms a reassuring squeeze. "I can't believe it," John spoke tightly, stepping back to give Harry a good once over while the raven haired man raised his hands before they flopped to his sides, hitting against well formed thighs clad in skin tight black trousers.

"It's been years, you bastard!" John laughed and Harry shrugged, tucking his hands back inside his pockets with an utterly unapologetic stance.

"Time flies when you're having fun," he answered sarcastically, tone dry and voice raspy, and all mirth seemed to simply evaporate out of John's stance, his shoulders sagging and mouth falling open.

"Oh, shit…" he muttered and rubbed his lips with his right hand, left placed on his waist. "Come - come on," he moved forward and placed his right hand on Harry's back, leading him towards his office. "Everyone back to work!" John snapped at the crowd and everyone scurried away. "You two, with me." He pointed at Stiles and Scott who exchanged a glance and followed after John and the stranger.

They entered John's office and John closed the door behind them, turning towards Scott and Stiles while Harry walked around the office, taking everything in with an intense stare.

"I need you two to go home, alright?" John said, turning to Stiles and looking into his son's eyes. "We'll talk when I get home. You just get some rest, okay?"

"Dad…" Stiles took a step closer to John, glancing at Harry who seemed to be busy studying one of the boards in John's office with the current unsolved case. "Who  _is_  he?"

John swallowed audibly and glanced over his shoulder at Harry before he looked at Stiles again. "An old friend," he spoke quietly. "I'll tell you everything when I get home, alright?"

Stiles' lips pressed into a thin line, and his arms jerked as though he wanted to take a hold of his dad, but a hand on his shoulder made him look at Scott who shook his head at his best friend. Stiles took a deep breath through his nose, pushing his hands inside the pockets of his jeans and nodded at his dad.

"Alright," he blurted out. "But call if you need us."

John snorted and squeezed Stiles' shoulder. "Don't worry about me, alright? Go. I'll see you later."

Stiles nodded and pulled his dad into a tight hug before he and Scott left the office, but not before casting one last wary glance at Harry who had sometime during their conversation moved over to the window and leaned back against the windowpane, hands firmly buried in the pockets of his jeans.

The moment the door closed behind Stiles and Scott, John fixed the plastic shutters so no one could see into his office and turned to face Harry who gifted him with a strained smile. John took a deep breath and rubbed his head with his hands, searching for the right words to say while Harry watched him with an unreadable stare.

"Damn it, Harry…" John breathed out, fisting his hands on his waist, not knowing what to say.

Harry pushed away from the windowpane, taking a step forward as he raised his arms and crossed them over his chest, all confidence fading away into nothing as he licked his lips, swallowed and sucked on his teeth, shifting his weight and glancing around the office, eyes glassy as he tried to fight back the tears that had stopped falling while he sat in his car in front of the Station debating whether he should go in or not.

"John, I…" Harry choked out, raising his hands to brush his hair back before he gasped and shook his head, flailing his arms as he avoided looking at John. "What the hell  _happened_  here?" he breathed out, and not knowing what else to do John hurried over to Harry and wrapped him in a warm embrace, cupping the back of Harry's head with his left hand and tucking the agent's head under his chin.

"Damn it," John pressed out the curse through his teeth as Harry quietly sobbed into his shoulder, the back of John's uniform crumpled within Harry's fists as the younger man held on to him for dear life. "You should have come here first," John bit out, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, gasping heavenwards, his own eyes filling with tears. "You should have come here first."

**cut**

Harry gifted John with a small, strained smile and accepted the cup of warm coffee John held out to him before he joined Harry on the couch, cradling his own mug in his hands. "Thank you," murmured Harry in a strained whisper and took a sip, eyes slipping closed as he swallowed the warm drink and let go of a wavering sigh. "I'm sorry for barging in unannounced and for…" he flipped his right hand towards John and the wet patch which was slowly drying on John's right shoulder, cleverly hidden from curious eyes by the open collar.

"Harry," John licked his lips and shook his head, squinting at Harry in remaining amazement for seeing him after so many years, alive and well none the less. "Harry, what happened?" he asked, leaning forward while Harry sat back with a grave sigh, resting his head back on the wooden pane of the indoor window of John's office. "You disappeared in the middle of the night! We searched for you for  _weeks_!"

"I know, John, and I'm sorry," Harry spoke, forcing down a heavy swallow as he shook his head. "Explaining everything would take  _so much time_  and I - I can't…" his voice broke and he covered his eyes with his left hand, lips turning downwards as he choked out a breath. "I  _knew_  that the chances of him waiting for me were nonexistent, but I didn't know I'd find him…" Harry swallowed the word, jumping to his feet and pacing the office after he placed the cup of coffee on John's desk.

"You went to the Hale house," John concluded the obvious, rubbing his face with his right hand, his mug dangling from his left. "You've seen it."

"I've seen the burned out  _shell_  of what could have been my home!" Harry snapped, jerking back from almost slamming his fist into a wall, and wrapping his left hand around it, curling his arms into his chest as he paced to the other side of the office, huffing as he raged.

"It happened 10 years ago, Harry," John spoke, even though he knew his words would do little to comfort the agent. "I've only recently found out who the culprit is. It was a hate kill. A very well concealed hate kill." He bit his tongue to stop himself from revealing the facts about the Hales he had only recently found out - and  _still_  had trouble believing sometimes - and stood up, looking at Harry when he stopped pacing and turned to face John.

"Who would want to kill them?!" Harry pressed out through his teeth, looking at John with wide, frantic eyes. "They never hurt  _anyone_!"

John placed his mug of coffee beside Harry's cup and took a firm hold of Harry's shoulders looking deep into eyes John was absolutely certain were unique in their shade and shape. "Harry, you know just as well as I do that there are people out there who don't need valid excuses to do evil things." Harry huffed and raised his hands, clasping them in front of his face and resting his forehead on his joined fingers.

"I just can't understand it, John," he whispered weakly. "There were - there were  _children_  in there! When I - when I heard about the fire, when I - when I found out, I had hoped it was a  _lie_ , that it was some sick  _joke_ , but today when I went there, I…"

Harry's hands fell to John's chest and he looked into the Sheriff's eyes, and John had to hold on to every single piece of self-control and determination as not to cry at the obvious desperation seen in that emerald gaze.

"Harry, it was a tragedy," John whispered gravely, covering Harry's hands with his own. "But you need to understand that you couldn't have done anything even if you were here." Harry's expression fell and he stilled completely, hardly breathing at all as his gaze dulled. "The whole city mourned for them, and the culprit paid for what she did,  _believe_ me."

John didn't want to mention that Kate Argent paid for it with her life, knowing Harry didn't need to hear that right now. What John had to do was to calm Harry enough to be able to send the man off until later that day so that they could sit down and go through everything in peace.

"She?" Harry asked weakly and took a step back, hands fisting by his sides as he swallowed heavily. John frowned when a shadow passed over Harry's eyes, strong shoulders squared and every muscle in that lean body coiled as though Harry was ready to pounce.

"Yes, Kate Argent was found out as the culprit," John said, receiving a completely different reaction to the one he thought he would get.

Harry stilled completely, thin, black eyebrows narrowing as his lips parted in honest confusion. "Kate Argent?" he asked as his nose wrinkled slightly and he ducked his head, looking at the floor as he rolled the newfound information around in his head.

"Yes," John said, breaking Harry's trail of thoughts by placing a hand on his back and leaning forward to look in Harry's eyes. "Now, I suggest you get some rest and meet up with me at my place when I finish my shift, okay? You need time to think over everything, and I don't want anyone to disturb our talk. I'll tell you everything tonight."

Harry nodded, looking around as he rubbed his hands against his thighs, blinking as though he just then realized where he was. He took a deep breath through his nose and let it go through his mouth before he rubbed his face with his hands and brushed them through his hair.

"You're still at the same address?" he asked John and the Sheriff nodded.

"Where will you be staying?" he asked and Harry shook his head.

"I've arrived to Beacon Hills maybe three hours ago," he said. "I need to find a hotel." John frowned at the man, brushing his right hand through his hair with his left hand on his waist.

"How long do you intend to stay?" John asked and Harry raised his hands, hitting them against his thighs.

"I kinda don't have anywhere else to go," he spoke quietly and John froze up for a second, before he shook his head.

"I can't talk about this right now," he muttered and placed his left hand on Harry's shoulder, raising his right and accenting every word with a pointed gesture. "Now, listen to me. Go to the closest hotel, get yourself a room, take a shower, a bath -  _whatever_  - and get some sleep. I'll call you when I'm done and you'll come over to my place. I have a free guestroom you'll be staying in until you find a place for yourself, okay?"

Harry nodded minutely, swallowing heavily as John gently patted Harry's chest and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Okay," Harry whispered, sucking on his teeth as he nodded again. "Okay."

He moved away from John and rubbed his face with his hands, breathing deeply for a few moments before he glanced around the office and walked over to the table. He took a piece of paper and a pen and jutted down his phone number before he handed it over to John who accepted it and put it into the back pocket of his pants.

"I'll see you later," Harry muttered and pulled his glasses out of the inside pocket of his jacket, but before he could leave, John grabbed him and pulled him into another hug, shocking Harry for a moment again.

"It's good to see you again, Harry," John whispered as he patted Harry's back. "Despite everything, it's good to see you again."

Harry clapped John's back with his left hand before he pulled back and attempted to smile, failing miserably. "It's good to see you again too, John," he said and put his glasses on. "See you," he muttered and left John's office, closing the door on his way out.

John sighed and placed his hands on his waist, taking a look around his office before he rubbed his face with his right hand, covering his mouth with it as he shook his head.

"Things just keep getting complicated," he muttered into his chin before he took a seat at the table hoping to get some work done, but a part of him knew that he would most definitely get nowhere. Never the less, with a deep intake of breath, John started on the massive amount of paperwork waiting for him, hoping to get at least  _half_  of it done before the end of his shift.

It was a fools hope to say the least.

**cut**

**Tell me what you think so far, kay? And of course, I'd like to know if you want more.**

**This has been rolling around in my mind for a few weeks now, and I really hope you guys will like it! :D**

**All my love,  
Ms. Yuki**


	2. Agent Potter

**cut**

**I hope you’ve enjoyed the first chapter! I can’t promise each chapter will be long or short since I can’t count on my muse to stick to one idea for now, but I CAN promise that you won’t have to wait long for new chapters.**

**My regular readers know of my unhealthy obsession with cliffhangers though. *wink, wink***

**So!! Let’s go on with the story, and feel free to review!!**

**Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you. I can’t accept Malia, I like her enough as a character, but I just CAN’T accept her as Peter’s daughter, so please, PLEASE ignore that she was ever there? Please? Let’s just pretend she ran off never to appear again, okay? For the sake of my sanity and love of good TV show plots, let’s just pretend that she ran off never to return again.**

**cut**

Harry closed the door of the hotel room he rented sagging tiredly against them. He forced down a difficult swallow, hitting his head back against the door as he chewed on his bottom lip, arms hanging limply by his sides as he tried - oh how _hard_ he tried - to stop thinking for just a _second_.

Glossy emerald eyes opened and he pushed away from the door, glancing around the simple room as he placed the keys of his car and the ticket for his room on a small cabinet in the narrow hallway. With furrowed eyebrows and tightly pressed lips, he slipped the leather gloves off of his hands and placed them beside the key before he shrugged his jacket off, throwing it over the back of an armchair facing a queen sized bed placed under a window.

He took a seat in the armchair bowing down to loosen the laces on his boots before he toed them off and stood up again, shedding his clothes on the floor on his way to the bathroom, pointedly ignoring the big mirror facing the shower stall.

Harry turned on the water, waiting for it to become scorching hot before he slipped under the spray, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as the drops hit his skin like millions of sharp needles.

Rotating his shoulders, Harry leaned forward bracing his hands on the tiled wall in front of him as he ducked his head, arching his back feeling the knots along his spine aching under the massaging spray of the shower. He turned his head slowly to the right first, hearing something in his neck crack before he repeated the action this time turning his head to the left, before a sigh passed his lips and he opened his eyes, watching the water flow down the drain.

He licked his lips, closed his eyes and simply breathed for a few long moments as the air grew warmer, condensation gathering on the surfaces and clouding the mirror. Harry slowly raised his head and looked at his hands, the corners of his eyes wrinkling and acid gathering in his throat at the net of zigzagging scars running up his right forearm, starting at his fingers.

Straightening he leaned back against the wall, not caring about the cold, and slowly fisted his right hand, a slight wince wrinkling the right corner of his lips and his nose as a quiet hiss escaped him.Harry closed his eyes and shook his head, straightening and grabbing the bottle of the hotel provided shampoo, doing quick work of washing his hair and body, ignoring the rest of the scars marring his skin in a hurry to get out of the bathroom.

He quickly washed the shampoo off of himself, turning the water off and drying himself with one of the prepared towels before he threw it under the sink and made his way into the room.

He picked up his discarded jacket and rummaged through the inside pocket, pulling out a small black pouch and throwing it on the bed. It enlarged mid-flight, falling onto the bed with a muffled ‘thud’, and Harry marched over to the bed and opened the bag with jerky motions, quickly digging out a pair of sweatpants and a washed-out gray T-shirt.

He pulled the clothes on before he found a pair of socks and took a seat on the bed, huffing as he tugged them on his feet before he lowered the bag on the floor and lied down on top of the covers, shielding his eyes from the midday sun breaking through white curtains by placing his right forearm over his eyes.

Harry was overly aware of _everything_. He could hear the ticking of the plastic clock on the wall facing the bed, and the dripping of the water in the bathroom. Sounds of tires screeching on the asphalt, of cars honking and people shouting out on the streets. It seemed as though every sound was multiplied by a thousand, and after a few long minutes just _listening_ to it all, Harry shifted to his side and curled in on himself, his arm falling to rest on the pillow beside his head while he wrapped his left arm around his waist.

Opening his eyes, gazing past his right arm and at the white wall, seeing it and yet not, and unnoticed by him, for his mind was in a completely different place, tears started to trail down his face.

Harry closed his eyes and let go of a wavering breath, fisting one hand in the pillow and the other in his shirt, as his shoulders heaved with quiet, sobbing gasps.

“I’m sorry, Pete…” he whispered into the deafening silence. “I’m so sorry.”

**cut**

John walked into his home and took off his jacket, hanging it on a hanger before he made his way into the living room.

“Dad!” Stiles jumped to his feet, Scott following close behind, making John startle.

“Damn it, boys, way to surprise a man,” he muttered as he entered the living room and Stiles walked over to him to wrap his arms around his dad.

“We wanted to know what happened,” Stiles said once he let go of John, glancing at Scott as the three of them took seats with Stiles and John taking the couch and Scott taking a seat in the closest armchair. “Scott…”

“The man who came to visit you in the office today,” Scott spoke up and John looked at him, glancing at his son with a questioning frown only to have Stiles shake his head at him in a quiet sign to listen to Scott.

“What about him?” John asked, turning to the young alpha.

“His scent…” Scott started only to hesitate, glancing at Stiles and receiving an encouraging nod. “I’ve never smelled anything remotely similar.”

John recoiled slightly, not really understanding what Scott was trying to tell him, and Stiles shifted in his seat, hands fisted on his knees as he looked at his dad.

“What Scott’s trying to say is that Agent Potter isn’t human,” John’s lips fell open, and he stopped breathing for a second, “and we were wondering how you met him and why he’s here.”

John opened and closed his mouth several times, glancing from Stiles to Scott and back to Stiles again as he tried to wrap his mind around that little tad bit of information. “W-way to drop a _bombshell_ on me, Stiles!” he cried out incredulously, jumping to his feet and pacing the room. “I mean - I’ve known Harry for a little over a _year_ before he disappeared off of the face of the _Earth_ , but - _damn_ it, this day just keeps getting worse!” he rubbed his face with his hands, pacing quietly for a moment before he brushed his fingers through his hair and looked at the two teens. “I mean are you _sure_?!” he asked almost desperately, squinting at them doubtfully. “I mean, he smells perfectly normal to _me_!”

“It’s not that his scent isn’t _normal_ ,” Scott started, searching for the right words. “It’s that - there’s something _else_ to his scent, like subtle _layers_ that I never smelled on a normal human.”

“But he isn’t a werewolf,” John spoke doubtfully, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No,” Scott shook his head. “And he isn’t a druid either, or a kitsune and he’s definitely not a kanima.” Stiles nodded in a agreement while John stared at the teens utterly thrown off of his axis.

“Boys, this is utter bullshit,” he said, _knowing_ that wasn’t what he wanted to say, but the day has been a shitty one on top of a really shitty week - heck, the whole _year_ has been one unbelievable situation on top of another - and John really didn’t have the patience to go through even _more_ trouble trying to figure something out.

“Dad, you gotta believe us,” Stiles jumped to his feet, flailing his hands as he raised them towards John. “Just - just take a seat and tell us everything you know about Agent Potter. We just want to make sure he’s not an enemy.”

John stared at his son in utter disbelief, bursting into almost hysterical laughter not a second later. “Okay, this is rich!” he spoke, looking heavenwards as his hands flopped against his hips. “Harry? An _enemy_?!” he snorted at the utter ridiculousness of the mere _thought_! “Harry James Potter was named a knight of the Queen’s Royal Guard when he was _2o_ _years_ _old_! When I met him he was already a full fledged _Agent_ of MI6! That guy’s the most honest man I’ve ever met! He doesn’t have a single deceiving, _evil_ bone in his damn _body_!!”

“Dad, we just need to make sure!” Stiles hurried to calm down his dad when he noticed the increasing redness of John’s face.

“Well you’ll have all the time in the world to _make sure_ , since Harry will be staying with us!!” John snapped and the teens froze up, jaws hitting the floor.

“What?” Stiles piped out, looking at Scott with a wide-eyed stare.

“Harry has no where else to go, and he needs a place to crash until he finds his own apartment,” John spoke with a tight-lipped grin. “As a matter of fact, he should be here any minute now!

“Dad, wait a second…” Stiles jumped forward reaching for his dad, but John raised his hands, cocking an eyebrow at his son.

“I trust Harry, son,” John spoke calmly, looking at Stiles with a pointed stare, eyebrows raised as he accented each word with a pointed gesture of his hands. “And even if his _isn’t_ human - which I still find hard to believe - that only means that he knows more about - about all of _this_ , and that he might be able to _help_ if something comes along.”

Before either Scott or Stiles could say anything the doorbell sounded, and the three looked towards the hall, holding their breaths.

John swallowed and licked his lips, rubbing his hands against his thighs before he looked at Stiles and pointed a finger at the teen. “Play nice,” he warned before he made his way into the hallway.

“Scott…” Stiles turned towards his best friend, halting mid-step when he found Scott staring with a narrow-eyed gaze at the floor, listening closely to what was going on. “Scott…”

“Your dad trusts him, Stiles,” Scott interrupted Stiles and looked in his best friend’s eyes, and Stiles flailed his hands, turning in his place a bit before he brushed them through his hair, huffed and hit his hands against his thighs before rubbing them.

“Damn it,” Stiles bit out, pushing his left hand in the pocket of his grey hoodie, covering his lips with his right hand and rubbing them in obvious agitation.

“Thank you for calling me over, John,” they heard Harry’s voice in the hallway, the man sounding nothing like he did when they first heard him at the Station, and Stiles unconsciously moved to stand behind Scott, while the young alpha took his stance in front of his best friend.

“It’s alright, Harry,” John answered just as they rounded the corner, and the two older man stopped in their tracks at the sight that waited for them in the living room. The two teens stood on guard, and while John huffed, rolled his eyes and raised his hands helplessly. Harry merely cocked an eyebrow seemingly slightly taken aback but still retaining a look of casual interest.

“Now, _this_ I didn’t expect,” he murmured as he allowed his black duffle-bag to fall on the ground against the door frame with a seemingly echoing of a thud; tucking his gloved hands inside the pockets of his leather jacket. Not exactly knowing _why_ , but unable to stop himself, Scott crouched and bared sharpening teeth at Harry, nails turning into deadly claws and eyes turning red as a threatening growl rumbled through his chest.

“Scott?” Stiles spoke up warily, taking a step back from his alpha who appeared unaware of it, completely focused on Harry, and John’s eyes widened as he backed away, a warning already on his lips.

“ _That’s_ a disaster _waiting_ to happen,” Harry muttered and John looked at him in utter shock and amazement, but before anyone could do anything, Scott roared and jumped. The cries of the others were simultaneous and filled with incredulous horror at what was unfolding before them.

“Harry!”

“Dad!”

Harry met Scott in the space between them, slamming a hand firmly into Scott’s chest, flipping the alpha on his back in a smooth continuous motion. There he held position, crouching over the young alpha with his right hand planted firmly over Scott’s heart and left clenched around Scott’s throat.

“Rein it in,” Harry bit out while Scott snarled and struggled against the raven haired man, his werewolf strength doing absolutely _nothing_ to help him fight the agent off. “Rein it in, kid!” Harry snapped when Scott’s snarling turned more vicious and the teen lashed out with deadly clawed hands that Harry dodged effortlessly. “Ah, fuck it…” Harry covered Scott’s eyes with his left hand, and Stiles and John where shaken when a pulse of something they couldn’t describe pushed them back.

Scott took in a deep breath, hands snapping up to grip Harry’s shoulders with claws digging into the firm leather of the jacket, and the young alpha gasped for air. Harry moved his left hand from Scott’s eyes and looked down at him with a cocked eyebrow while Scott stared up at him in utter confusion and amazement.

“How did you do that?” he gasped and Harry scoffed before he stood up, offering his right hand to Scott without prompting and helping the teen to his feet. He hummed quizzically as he brushed imaginary dust off of Scott’s shoulders and arms, giving the alpha a quick once over with a narrow-eyed stare, thin eyebrows furrowed in thoughtful scrutiny.

“The question _I_ want answered right now is how _you_ managed to become an alpha when it’s clear as daylight that you can’t control it properly,” Harry muttered mostly to himself disapproval thinly lacing his words. Taking a step back from Scott he crossed strong arms over his chest.

“Harry?” John spoke up in a disbelieving tone and Harry turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow at the sheriff.

“Oh!” Harry’s eyes widened momentarily and he lowered his arms, tucking them inside the pockets of his jacket. “Well, I guess _all_ of us have a bit of explaining to do,” he said, shifting his weight and appearing almost at ease with the whole situation, while Stiles, John and Scott exchanged confused stares.

“Like what _you_ are?” Stiles asked, trying to sound defiant and strong, but his voice wavered, ruining the effect, and making Harry raise an eyebrow at him.

“My, my, my…” The trio was amazed when Harry’s expression softened into a tender one and he shook his head before he looked at John. “ _This_ is Séaghdha?” he asked and John nodded, struggling to get a hold of himself again while Harry looked at Stiles again, finding the teen staring at him in more than obvious confusion.

“I guess you wouldn’t remember me,” Harry said, lips tilted in a smirk. “You were a 7 year old pipsqueak last time I’ve seen you.” Stiles openly gaped while Scott -- still unable to connect the dots so to say -- switched his gaze from Harry to Stiles, trying to wrap his mind around everything.

“What?” Stiles blurted out, trying to understand how this _stranger_ managed to say his real name without so much as a stutter while his own dad sounded like a broken record. No one had used Stiles’ real name ever since his mom died.

“Do you still have that small wooden chest with the locket shaped like a stag and a lily?” Harry asked and Stiles’ eyes widened. It was the box which had an honorary place on his shelf up in his bedroom in which he still hid his most prized possessions - a childish thing to say the least, but Stiles couldn’t make himself let go of it.

“Yeah, I…” he swallowed audibly, something stirring in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t quite grasp, and Harry laughed quietly and shook his head.

“I was the one who gave it to you,” Harry drawled and cocked an eyebrow at Stiles whose eyes widened and he spluttered for a few moments. He couldn’t _quite_ remember it, and who could blame him! He was - _what_ \- seven years old? That was a long time ago!

“I remember,” John spoke up and everyone looked at him only to find the sheriff looking at Harry with a small, tender smile. “You gave it to Stiles when we found out Claudia was terminally ill. If I’m not wrong, Stiles still has her wedding ring and necklace in that chest.”

Harry’s expression fell and he licked his lips, shifting his weight a bit. “John, I’m sorry I wasn’t there…”

“No,” John interjected, shaking his head and raising his right hand. “You have nothing to feel sorry about.” Harry swallowed heavily but nodded his head. “What I would like to do now, is sit down and find out what the _hell_ is going on here.” John rubbed his head with his right hand, left braced on his waist, and Harry chuckled as he shook his head and looked at Scott, who was staring at him in amazement.

“Well then, why don’t we all take seats,” he suggested. “It’s going to be a long story.”

**cut**

“Thank you,” Harry said, and gifted Stiles with a small smile when the teen handed him a cup of fresh made coffee before Stiles joined Scott on the couch.

Harry and John took residence in separate armchairs, and all eyes were pointed at Harry who took a sip of coffee, sighed and sat back in his armchair before he looked at John. “Where should I begin?” he asked.

“I think Scott and I would like to know everything from the beginning, starting with what you are,” Stiles spoke up in a hurry, no longer wary, but still somewhat untrusting, especially since Scott had yet to say a word or look at anyone, embarrassed about his earlier loss of control.

Harry chuckled and shook his head at Stiles’ bluntness before he crossed muscled legs and braced his weight on his left elbow, cradling the cup in his right hand and watching the dark liquid roll around the walls of the cup.

“Well, then I suppose I should start with saying that I am a wizard,” Harry said, looking at the other three with raised eyebrows and lips tilted up in amusement. “Usually I wouldn’t be allowed to tell you this, but since you already know about werewolves, I think it’s safe to say that the Statute of Secrecy doesn’t quite apply here.”

“A wizard?” Stiles leaned forward in interest, legs hopping in excitement and hands resting on his knees, and John’s mouth opened, eyebrows rising as he sat back with a huff. Even Scott raised his head to look at Harry, eyebrows narrowed in a thoughtful frown.

“Yes, Stiles, a wizard,” Harry confirmed, nodding his head. “There are societies of witches and wizards hidden all around the world, and I dare say that the Statute of Secrecy is possibly the only reason why our existence hasn’t been revealed to this date. Here in the States you don’t really have a functioning Magical Community…”

“Because of the witch trials, right?” Stiles jumped in, eyes glimmering with excitement, and Harry chuckled again, nodding in confirmation.

“The only Wizarding Community you have on American soil is so far south that it’s utterly ridiculous, and they have even _worse_ laws and regulations than the Wizarding World of Britain when it comes to revealing themselves to anyone.” Harry scoffed and shook his head. “Last I’ve heard is that they even erase all memory of having a child to the parents of said kid if they show signs of any sort of magical talent.”

“That’s horrible,” John spoke up, frowning at Harry who nodded in agreement.

“The Magical Community of Chile rarely even communicates with other Communities. Any attempt of interference has been met with armed forces, so we kind of gave up on them,” Harry shrugged and rearranged his limbs in the armchair, letting go of a deep sigh. “But I guess that has little importance to our current situation.”

“How did you do it?” Scott spoke up for the first time in the past half an hour and Harry focused on him. “How did you make the alpha pull back?”

“I forced it into submission,” Harry answered. “I know I’m stronger than you, stronger than the alpha, so when it appeared that you wouldn’t back off on your own, I used Legilimency, the art of entering ones mind, to assert my will on the alpha.”

Scott swallowed audibly and ducked his head again, hands fisting on his thighs. “I’m sorry,” he pressed out through his teeth. “I didn’t mean to, I thought I could…”

“Scott…”

“It’s alright,” Harry cut Stiles off and the two teens looked at him with almost matching expressions of confusion while John snorted and rolled his eyes, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. “I don’t really know what happened, but I can see that there’s some sort of discord between you and the wolf. It could be a consequence of you refusing it, denying it, or it could have been caused by some external influence. I wouldn’t know unless we sat down to properly discuss it, but it’s not something unmanageable.”

“You mean you can help me?” Scott asked, looking at Harry with hopeful eyes, and Harry gifted him with a small smile.

“I’ve seen worse cases, believe me,” he muttered and took a sip of his coffee. “But I digress,” he flicked his right hand as though waving something of before rubbing his right thigh with it and smiling slightly at Stiles. “Where was I?”

“You’ve informed us that you’re a _wizard_ ,” John drawled and Harry looked at him, eyebrows wrinkling in an apologetic expression.

“I’m sorry that I hid this from you, John,” he spoke in a heavy voice. “It’s not something I’m free to reveal to just about anyone. If you didn’t already know about the existence of werewolves then I would have had to erase your memories of what happened earlier between me and Scott. The fact that you knew about it before I even got here is _literally_ saving you from having your memory altered.” He sighed before he rubbed his face and chuckled morosely. “And _hopefully_ saving _me_ from losing one of the few friends I have left.”

Those words shocked John into a stunned silence, while Stiles and Scott stared at the two older men, trying to connect the little information they had received until that moment.

“Damn it, Harry, what the hell happened to you?” John asked, bracing his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Last I know you were happy here in Beacon Hills! You’ve finally built a life for yourself here! And then you up and vanished without a word!”

“John, I…”

“No!” John cut Harry off and jumped to his feet, making Stiles and Scott recoil in surprise while Harry merely bowed his head and covered his eyes with his left hand.

“You had a job here! You had your own apartment! You even found a _lover_ for Christ’s sake, and then all of a sudden without a single _implication_ that something would happen, you vanished into thin air!!”

“John…” Harry sat up slowly, placing his cup on the table, but John didn’t give him time to speak.

“We let you into our lives, Harry! We _accepted you_ and we all loved you! My _son_ started calling you _Uncle Harry_!! And just before everything came _crashing_ down, you disappeared!” John flailed as he raged at Harry, who stood up and shot John through with such a sad, such an utterly _devastated_ glance, that all of John’s anger - which appeared literally out of nowhere - evaporated within a single breath.

“I didn’t have a _choice_ , John,” he answered, not shouting, not angry or hurt, but utterly and devastatingly _hopeless_. “Yes, you and Claudia accepted me as your own, and my time with you, with - with _him_ was absolutely _perfect_ , but none of you knew about the mess I’ve left behind. _I_ didn’t know about it until it came to bite me in the ass.”

Harry brushed his gloved hands through his hair, huffing before such a sardonic laugh rolled off of his lips that it felt to the three like an actual physical impact.

“I didn’t leave willingly, _believe me_ , John,” Harry looked at the Sheriff with wide, imploring eyes. “I was _taken_ , and whether you believe me or not I _tried_. I tried to come back sooner, but I couldn’t. So much _shit_ happened in the past 10 years that I wouldn’t know where to _begin_ if I tried to tell you everything. But you _have to know_ that I didn’t leave willingly.”

John licked his lips and pulled back slightly, not knowing where to put his hands after he rubbed his face with them, so he pushed them into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging his shoulders as he started at Harry, having no idea what so ever what to say to the wizard.

After a few moments spent in long silence, Harry sighed and rubbed his face with his gloved hands before he brushed them through his hair. “This was a bad idea,” he spoke in a broken, strained voice. “I’ll - I’ll just go now…”

“Harry, wait!” John moved after Harry who reached the hallway with surprising speed, taking a hold of his duffle-bag before he threw it over his shoulder, only to be stopped by John before he reached the front entrance, very aware of Stiles and Scott standing in the doorway leading into the living room, the teens watching the scene revolve in confusion and worry. “Harry, you don’t need to…”

“John, just…” Harry swallowed and looked to the side, licking his lips before he looked at John again. “I understand that you’re angry and hurt, and I’m sorry. I don’t know what I hoped to find here. Please, just - I need time to get a grip over myself and you need to let everything settle down for you. You have my number now. If you ever want to talk to me, give me a call.”

Harry pushed past John, not waiting for an answer, and walked out of the house. The door didn’t have time to close behind him because John caught them, lips parted as he tried to push the words he wanted to say past them, but failed.

Stiles and Scott stood behind John watching as Harry opened the back door of his car and threw the duffle-bag in, before he slammed them closed and got into the car himself. Without sparing them a glance, Harry started the engine and drove off of the front lawn, speeding into the night with the sound of tires screeching against the asphalt.

The two teens looked at John when he sighed gravely and slammed the door closed before he turned around and all but marched for the living room. “Good going, John,” he muttered into his chin. “You’ve messed up _real_ nice this time.”

“Dad?” Stiles called out, glancing at Scott as though making sure that the alpha was still there before he looked at his dad who poured a copious amount of Jack into a glass cup before he closed the bottle and threw it none too gently into the cupboard.

“Sorry you had to see that,” John grumbled, taking a seat in his armchair, bracing his left elbow on the armrest and covering his eyes with his left hand, right resting on the armrest with the glass of Jack cradled loosely in it.

Stiles swallowed audibly and walked over to the couch, closely followed by Scott who stood firm in his decision to stay by Stiles’ side even though he felt utterly too uncomfortable with the whole situation.

“Dad, what happened?” Stiles asked, glancing at Scott before he focused his entire attention on his dad.

John sighed and his right hand flopped against the soft surface of the armrest, fingers tugging on a loose seam as a small, sardonic smile tilted the sheriff’s lips.

“Harry came to this town a little over 11 years ago,” he spoke in a raspy voice and Stiles and Scott exchanged a glance. “He was a kid who just wanted to lead a normal life. He had outstanding recommendations and while we didn’t know _how_ he got them or what he did to get them, we didn’t ask. Past is past and all that bullshit,” he muttered and took a sip of his drink, hissing and squinting as it burned down his throat. “Since he was new in town I… I guess I felt sorry for him so I called him over for dinner. Your mom fell for his big smile and British accent right on ‘hello’.” John chuckled and shook his head, raising his head to look at Stiles. “You were hardly 7 years old at that time, and you all but fell in love with him.”

Stiles blushed furiously, spluttering for an appropriate answer only to glare at Scott when he _dared_ to snicker at him. But before Stiles could do anything John sighed and continued the story sounding tired and worn out all of a sudden.

“Harry soon proved to be an _amazing_ officer. He was focused, dedicated and did the job without messing up or taking unnecessary risks. He kept a low profile, hung out with maybe two or three people besides us, and he did an utterly _amazing_ job of watching over you when Claudia and I would go out.”

John stopped and looked at his drink with narrowed eyes and slightly pursed lips.

“Now that I think about it,” he murmured, “he used to tell you stories.” John looked at Stiles who leaned forward, completely still for once in his life as he got sucked into the story. “Stories about a wizarding school and a little boy who faced dragons and evil wizards…”

“And a huge three headed dog named Fluffy…” Stiles whispered, bowing his head with a thoughtful frown. “I remember.” He glanced at Scott whose eyes widened slightly.

“I think I remember too!” he said, lips tilting up into a small smile. “I don’t remember ever meeting Harry, but I _think_ I remember you telling me stories about a wizard. You must have heard them from Harry then.”

“And those stories suddenly make a _lot_ of sense,” John drawled and finished his drink, placing the glass on the table before he braced his elbows on his knees, stapled his fingers and rested his forehead on them as he took a deep breath. He raised his head and perched his chin on top of his fingers, looking at something only he could see.

“Some six months after Harry started working with me, I noticed that he was acting strange. When he’d come over for dinner he’d appear uncomfortable for some reason, as though he wanted to tell us something but didn’t know how. Then he started missing out on Sunday lunch, and I got suspicious. Until I caught him in town with another guy.”

John laughed and rubbed his face with his hands, shaking his head. “Harry fell in love with this guy and he was afraid that we’d push him away because he’s gay. Claudia had the laugh of her lifetime at that.”

Stiles and Scott exchanged a glance, with Stiles doing a small, abrupt jerk of his head making his best friend frown in confusion, eyes narrowing when a light blush tinged Stiles’ cheeks and he looked at his dad, leaving Scott no other choice but to put that small scene in the back of his mind for later analyzing.

“After that things went back to normal again. Claudia and I tried to get Harry to bring his lover over to lunch or dinner, but something would always come up.” John sighed and reclined in his armchair, looking at the ceiling with a faraway gaze. “He was right there beside me when we found out Claudia was sick, holding you in his arms as though there was a way to protect you from that knowledge just by physically shielding you.”

John forced down a swallow, eyes darkening to a stormy blue as he breathed out jaw tight as he tried to fight back tears of frustration. “3 months later, he was gone.”

Stiles and Scott frowned and exchanged a glance, not really keeping pace.

“The worst thing is, I…” John choked up, shaking his head slowly as he squinted at the tea-table between them as though he would find answers he has been looking for written in the light brown wood. “No matter how much I think about those three months I can’t find _anything_ that could have indicated that he would disappear. I was the last one who saw him that day, and he acted absolutely _normal_. There was no indication…”

“Then maybe what he said was true,” Stiles cut his dad off, unable to watch John beating himself over with this. “Maybe he was really taken.”

“For 10 years?” John looked at Stiles, eyes full of something unnamed. “What could have made him stay away for 10 years?”

“He wasn’t lying,” Scott spoke up and the father and son looked at him with almost matching frowns. “I could hear his heartbeat, Sheriff. He never lied. Not _once_.”

John swallowed difficultly and closed his eyes, hitting his head back against the headrest.

“Dad, just - just give him time,” Stiles spoke up. “He just came back and I think you can see he’s not the same man he was before…”

John scoffed and rolled his head from side to side. “You have no idea.”

Stiles took a deep breath through his nose. “Then take some time to make peace with everything. I don’t think he’ll leave anytime soon.”

John raised his head and gifted his son with a lopsided smile. “Sure. I’ll give it a few days and then I’ll call him over for a drink. _This_ time, I’ll make sure he stays.” Stiles laughed quietly while Scott smiled, and John sat up, stretching slightly before he huffed and sagged forward. “I just can’t help but wonder, you know? Harry’s in no way weak and since he’s a wizard I doubt it was easy to catch him off guard and just - I don’t know _kidnap_ him or something.” John waved his hand, slumping back into the backrest.

Scott and Stiles exchanged a glance of quiet communication, with Stiles turning to his dad with eyebrows set in a determined line.

“Dad, did you ever talk to Harry’s ex? Maybe he would know what happened.”

John scoffed and shook his head. “That was the first thing I wanted to do, son, but that guy was hard to find. He disappeared for a whole _week_ after Harry vanished.”

“But you _did_ talk to him, didn’t you?” Scott urged, leaning forward in interest.

John took a deep breath and nodded, a flicker of amazement passing over his eyes. “I did,” he said. “And now I’m wondering how I didn’t figure all of _this_ out sooner.” John flailed his hands in Scott’s general direction and the teens unconsciously leaned forward, waiting for John to word his thoughts.

“When I finally located the kid, I asked him about Harry. He _insisted_ that he didn’t know anyone named Harry Potter, even though I was _certain_ that he and Harry were dating for almost a _year_.”

Stiles looked at Scott, confusion written all over his face, and Scott wasn’t fairing any better. He was just as confused by what they heard as Stiles was.

“It was as though he forgot he had ever met Harry,” John murmured thoughtfully, and Scott looked at Stiles when he heard his best friend’s heartbeat stutter.

“Dad?” Stiles spoke up, his voice cracking on that single word. “Do you happen to know the name of Harry’s ex?”

John’s eyes darkened, lips pressed into a thin line, and a cold shiver passed down Stiles’ back.

“Course I know it,” he spoke in a quiet murmur before he raised his head and looked in Stiles’ eyes. “His name was Peter Hale.”

**cut**

**Can anyone tell me if Sheriff Stilinski knows Peter’s alive at this point? I can’t remember if he was aware of it or if he found out when Meredith asked to talk to Peter.**

**Anyway, I hope you liked the new chapter and that you’ll stay tuned for the next installment: ‘Missing’.**

 


	3. Missing

**cut**

**Thought I’d give you a bit of Peter/Harry action for being such AMAZING readers and leaving me such encouraging reviews!**

**I love you, guys!! Hope you’ll enjoy the new chapter and I look forward to reading your impressions!!**

**cut**

“Scott!” Stiles called out, muttering an apology under his breath when he almost ran into a businessman who shouted something at him, but Stiles was too focused on reaching Scott to pay the guy any attention. “Hey,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath, Kira and Lydia offered him small smiles while Scott’s gaze darted all over Stiles’ hunched form. Stiles straightened, gulped in a deep breath and let it go in a rush. “Sorry for being late, had to do some shopping.”

“It’s alright,” Scott said, offering a small smile while Lydia and Kira exchanged a glance with Kira shifting her weight almost uncomfortably while Lydia took a step closer to Stiles who pushed his hands inside the pockets of his jacket and took another deep breath.

“Did you tell them about Agent Potter?” Stiles asked Scott who nodded, brushing his right hand though his hair.

“Scott told us everything that happened,” Lydia said, turning to Stiles. “He also told us about Peter and Agent Potter.” She looked utterly uncomfortable even _saying_ that and Stiles snorted while Kira and Scott exchanged a glance.

“That’s a bit hard to imagine,” Stiles muttered dryly, wrinkling his nose as he rubbed the back of his head and scratched the nape of his neck with his right hand before letting it flop to his side. “Question _is_ what we’re gonna do about all this information now that we have it.”

“I think we should get out of here first,” Lydia said, glancing around at the people casting wondering stares in their direction. “And _then_ we should call Derek and ask him if he knows something about agent Potter and Peter.”

“Already tried that,” Scott spoke up, taking his phone out of his pocket and frowning at it. “He still didn’t answer.”

“Let’s get out of here first,” Stiles said and pulled the keys of his jeep out of his pocket. “Come to my house. My dad’s at work. We’ll take care of everything once we’re out of here.”

“Kira, you’re with me,” Lydia said and made her way towards her car while Kira looked at Scott with slightly wide eyes, receiving a small smile and a nod in return.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said and she nodded hurriedly, letting go of a noncommittal sound before she ran after Lydia.

“Let’s go,” Stiles pressed out and all but jumped as he turned around and made his way towards the parking lot behind the shopping mall they met up in.

“Did you manage to talk to your dad some more?” Scott asked, glancing around as a feeling of something creeping up his spine sent warning signals into the back of his mind.

“No,” Stiles grunted. “He went to bed soon after you left. I did some research though.” They took a turn onto the parking lot, both breathing lighter once they were a fair distance from the crowd. “Didn’t sleep last night, but I have a few new facts about agent Potter.”

“Such as?” Scott asked as they reached Stiles’ jeep and got in, with Stiles starting the engine and glancing around. Scott didn’t take his eyes off of Stiles until they drove off of the parking lot. Then Stiles took a deep breath, sucking on his teeth for a moment before he popped his lips and huffed.

“Either that guy’s a fricking superhero no one knows about or he had some pretty fucked up stuff happen to him,” Stiles muttered dryly, keeping just under the speed limit as he drove home, knowing Lydia and Kira were well on their way there by then.

Scott frowned as he waited for Stiles to continue, watching the minute trembling of Stiles’ hands and hopping of his legs. “Can you start from the beginning?”

“Beginning?” Stiles raised his eyebrows a bit and glanced at Scott who nodded hurriedly, turning in his seat so he could face Stiles, even though his best friend was doing his best to stay focused on the road. “Well, he was born on 31st of July in Godric’s Hollow. His parents got killed 15 months later and he was shipped off to his mom’s relatives. The _interesting_ thing is that there’s no real _record_ of him until he started elementary school, and then he disappears again shortly after his 11 th birthday.”

“Disappears?” Scott’s eyebrows narrowed in confusion while Stiles nodded minutely, sparing a glance to the rearview mirror before he shifted gears and took a turn.

“Yeah. There’s no sign of him until February 2000 when he was knighted by the Queen of England for services to the Kingdom. What’s strange is that while he _is_ an agent of MI6, there’s really no data on him anywhere, _which_ on the other hand isn’t so strange at all.” Stiles muttered that last part, rolling his eyes and huffing. “It _is_ a secret service after all.” Scott’s lips tilted into a small smile. “Anyway, I don’t know why, but agent Potter suddenly moved to Beacon Hills after applying for a position in the station. His file states that he wanted a change of scenery.”

“A change of scenery?” Scott wrinkled his nose while Stiles nodded avidly. “Wait a second, how did you access his files?” Scott looked at Stiles, his expression a strange combination of actually impressed and worried.

“I _kinda_ have my dad’s access codes and I sorta… _kinda_ … went to the Station last night while dad was asleep…” Stiles glanced at Scott every second or so as he spoke, shifting in his seat a bit while Scott’s eyes widened.

“You _didn’t_!” Scott groused.

“What?” Stiles shook his head slowly with wide eyes and parted lips. “I wanted to know who the man is! Can you blame me?!”

“I won’t, but your _dad_ might if he finds out!” Scott said and Stiles snorted.

“Yeah, right…” he muttered and drove onto the front lawn of his house, finding Lydia’s car already parked there. “Anyway, a year and two months later, agent Potter disappeared off the charts. No mention of him what-so-ever until he showed up at dad’s office yesterday.” Stiles spoke as they got out of the car and made their way towards Lydia and Kira who waited for them on the porch.

“Took you long enough,” Lydia grumbled while Stiles unlocked the door and they piled inside, making their way to the living room. “Anything from Derek?” she asked as she took a seat in an armchair while Kira and Scott took the couch with Scott quietly telling Kira everything new he found out, Lydia listening with half attention her eyes focused on Stiles who was pacing in front of them, wringing his hands in front of his stomach.

“What?” Scott looked at Lydia, not quite catching her question, and she huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Did Derek answer in the meantime?” she asked and Scott quickly dug his phone out of his pocket, stilling when he saw that nothing changed.

“No,” he murmured, placing the phone on the tea-table. “That’s strange. Usually it doesn’t take him long to answer.”

Stiles stopped pacing and silence settled among them as they exchanged worried glances.

“So we have a new guy in town and at the same time, Derek disappears,” Lydia commented with a huff, crossing her legs and smacking her hands against her thighs. “Great!”

“We don’t know if Derek’s gone missing,” Kira was quick to reassure, gaze darting over the others with slight desperation. “I - I mean, maybe he’s just busy!”

“Busy with _what_ exactly,” Stiles bit out, right arm wrapped around his waist as he nibbled on his left thumb, before jumping slightly and taking a seat in the free armchair, clasping his hands between his thighs, although his legs continued hopping. “Scott, when was the last time you’ve heard of him?”

Scott looked at his phone with narrowed eyebrows, trying to remember the last time he had heard from Derek. “Now that I think about it…” he muttered, raising his head to look at Stiles. “Last time I’ve seen him was after we’ve beaten the Nogitsune, right before he went home.”

“Did you hear from him _after_ that?” Stiles asked as he leaned forward, eyes wide in worry.

“No,” Scott whispered, eyes widening.

In that moment Stiles jumped to his feet, pulling his phone out of his pocket and quickly dialing Derek’s number.

“Stiles…”

“Wait!” Stiles cut Scott off, raising his left hand towards his best friend as he listened, hoping against hope that Derek would answer his damn phone. He huffed when the secretary turned on, ended the call and tried again, the other three switching between staring at Stiles and exchanging glances full of worry and trepidation. “Damnit!” Stiles snapped and threw his phone into the armchair where it bounced until stilling while Stiles went back to pacing, dragging his hands through his hair and fisting them on the back of his head.

“Guys, we shouldn’t panic,” Kira spoke up, shifting in her seat and glancing at everyone with eyes full of desperate hope. “I - I mean - surely there’s a reasonable explanation…”

“There is no _reasonable explanation_ to Derek not answering his phone in twenty-four hours!” Stiles snapped and Kira flinched back.

“We should go to his place,” Lydia said as she stood up and wrapped her arms around her waist. “I have a really bad feeling.” Stiles whined at those words, crossing his arms over his chest in a vain attempt to stop himself from tugging his hair out.

“Let’s go,” Scott jumped to his feet with Kira following close behind.

“And he better _hope_ to have misplaced his phone,” Stiles bit out darkly, already on his way out of his house.

His friends exchanged glances behind his back, half wondering about the fact that Stiles seemed _more_ than worried about Derek and half worried about the werewolf. There had to be a good explanation for Derek not answering Scott’s calls.

They only hoped that Derek was alright.

**cut**

“So just wash his eyes in the morning and after the last walk of the day with what I’ve prescribed you, and call me if his eye doesn’t get better, alright?” Alan Deaton instructed his latest patient out of his clinic, the owner of said beautiful dog nodding and muttering her thanks before Deaton closed the door behind them and sighed.

Seeing that there was no one else asking for his immediate attention, Alan made his way to his office to take care of some paperwork. He had just taken a seat behind his desk when the chiming of the bell at the front entrance signaled a new arrival, and he stood up quickly, wondering who it could be.

When he walked into the waiting room, Alan stopped in his tracks and openly gaped, his eyes widening at the sight of the man he thought he would never see again.

“Hello, Alan,” he said, pushing gloved hands within the pockets of the black leather jacket which had seen better days, and shifted his weight, looking at Alan with emerald eyes which once shone with hopefulness and love of life, but were now shadowed with darkness of whatever broke the young man’s hopes.

“Harry?” Alan took a wary step forward, hands rising towards the agent, whose lips tilted up into a small smile, eyes turning glassy as he shrugged his shoulders with an audible swallow. “It’s - Is that really _you_?”

Harry huffed and ducked his head, looking at Alan from under thin black eyebrows and taking a small step forward. “It’s been a while,” he spoke in a raspy, strained voice, and Alan did something utterly uncharacteristic for him. He pushed past the front desk, all but running towards Harry, and wrapped his arms around the young man, letting go of a heavy gasp when he was indeed made certain that the wizard wasn’t just a visage, an image of the young man he hadn’t seen in such a long time.

Harry raised his hands and fisted them in the shirt on Alan’s back, taking in a deep breath and familiarizing himself again with the druid’s scent, with the aroma of herbs and wood and medicine which seemed to have engraved themselves in Alan’s skin.

“God, Harry…” Alan moved back and cupped Harry’s face within his hands, caressing pale cheeks with his thumbs and squinting at the wizard, still unable to believe that Harry was really there.

Harry’s lips tilted up into a small smile and he clapped Alan’s shoulders as he took a small step back making Alan lower his hands.

“Harry, it’s been…”

“Well over ten years, I know,” Harry interrupted the druid, rubbing his nose with his right index finger before his hand flopped against his side and he glanced around. “Do you have some time? Or should I come back later?”

“Of course, come in!” Alan placed his left hand on Harry’s back and led him past the front desk and into the back of the clinic, but instead of leading Harry into his office they walked past it and made their way up the stairs to Alan’s loft, going straight for the living room.

“Thank you,” Harry offered quietly as he took a seat in an armchair while Alan made his way over to a cabinet, taking two glasses and pouring a hefty amount of Scotch into both of them, before he walked back to Harry, took a seat on the tea-table in front of the wizard and offered one glass to him, settling to ask what happened.

“Harry, what…” Which was easier said than done, mind you. Alan still had trouble actually believing that it was Harry James Potter sitting in front of him.

The wizard looked only slightly different than Alan remembered. His hair was still a messy nest of raven black short strands curling into every-which direction, and his build was still lithe and sinewed with lean muscles. Alan noticed that Harry wore gloves, something that he had never done before, and that his shoulders seemed to be weighed down by something. Harry was as far from the man that Alan remembered as was humanly possible, and it broke Alan’s heart, because he remembered Harry as a strong young man, able to withstand whatever life threw at him.

But apparently, something _did_ break him.And if Alan were to be perfectly honest, he feared to know what it was.

“It’s good to see you again, Alan,” Harry spoke up, breaking Alan’s trail of thoughts and making the druid look at the wizard who had relaxed back in the armchair and was now looking at Alan with an unreadable gaze.

“What happened, Harry?” Alan asked. “You just disappeared one night and…”

“I’m sorry, Alan,” Harry murmured and rubbed his face with his right hand, the glass of Scotch cradled in his left loosely. “I - I don’t even know where to begin. I just need - I just need to talk to someone, and I didn’t know where else to go.”

Alan’s eyebrows narrowed in confusion. “Harry, while I _am_ glad you came to me, I seem to remember that you were quite good friends with sheriff Stilinski…” he stopped talking when Harry chuckled dryly and shook his head.

“John and I… I went to him.”

Harry nodded as he licked his lips, letting go of a heavy sigh. “I don’t know what happened, but he and I got into a fight. I decided to give him time to think things through a bit. If he’ll ever want anything to do with me again, he’ll give me a call.”

Alan took a deep breath, watching as Harry ducked his head, hiding his face from him.“Harry…” Alan leaned forward, covering Harry’s right hand with his left and looking deep into that shadowed, emerald gaze. “What happened?”

Harry licked his lips and swallowed difficultly, looking at his drink.“I was taken,” he whispered, choking up on air, not seeing the way Alan tensed up and frowned at him. “That night I… I was taken…”

**cut**

_A little over 10 years ago_

**cut**

Harry laughed as he and his boyfriend as of almost one year stumbled into Harry’s apartment. “Do we _really_ need that bed?” Peter murmured seductively against Harry’s right ear, hands already sneaking under Harry’s tight, dark green turtleneck while the raven haired man struggled to lock the door.

“Oh, fuck it,” Harry gasped allowing the keys to fall on the floor, and he entangled his fingers in Peter’s soft, brown locks, pulling him into a kiss which made the werewolf growl in need as he pushed Harry towards the couch.

Harry yelped when he fell back, bouncing on the soft pillows, and his eyes darkened when he saw Peter tugging his shirt off, revealing his well built torso to Harry’s hungry eyes. Peter kneeled between Harry’s invitingly parted legs, slipping his hands under his lover’s shirt and moaning at the soft, warm skin under his fingers dragged them up and pushed at Harry’s shirt until Harry had to sit up, laughing brightly as he helped Peter get rid of the offending piece of clothing.

Their lips met in a deep kiss, all teeth and tongues as Peter fumbled with the buckle of Harry’s belt, cursing when he nicked his finger on the sharp needle, and Harry huffed and rolled his eyes, pushing against Peter’s chest until the werewolf fell on his ass with Harry straddling his thighs.

“Didn’t know you were so clumsy,” Harry drawled teasingly, lips tilted into a grin which Peter returned, leering as Harry took care of the buckle, slipping it out of the loops of his jeans before he opened them.

“Well, _now_ I get to enjoy a _show_ ,” Peter drawled, eyes widening minutely when Harry halted for a second before he chuckled and slowly slipped off of Peter’s lap.

“You want a show?” he murmured tucking his hands inside his trousers and slowly pushing them down, wiggling his hips a bit as he stepped back making Peter sit up.

He licked his lips when Harry’s jeans slid down lean, muscled legs to gather around his ankles, and Harry stepped out of them pushing them to the side before he turned his back on Peter and stretched his arms above his head, the muscles of his back rippling under taunt skin.

“Now, I feel like drinking coffee.” Peter’s eyes widened and he choked up when Harry said that, hands flopping to his sides as he actually made his way towards the kitchen. “Do you want some?” he glanced over his right shoulder at Peter whose mouth snapped shut and he growled at Harry, eyes glowing yellow as he pounced.

“Potter!” he yelled and Harry laughed, running for his bedroom while Peter jumped over the couch in an attempt to catch him. Harry all but squealed when strong arms wrapped around his waist just as he entered his bedroom, and he was thrown into the air only to land back in Peter’s arms, looking up to see the werewolf grinning lecherously at him.

“ _You_ have been a _very_ bad boy, Mr. Potter,” Peter drawled as he carried Harry over to the queen sized bed and threw him on it before he kneeled on it, eyes glowing mischievously as he crawled towards Harry who kept backing away from him.

Harry laughed out loud when Peter grabbed his ankles and pulled him under himself, looming over the wizard with a leering grin, before he ducked down and slammed his lips against Harry’s, turning his laughter into a needy moan.

Peter growled when he felt Harry’s nails dig into the muscles of his lower back before dragging up, and he hissed as he bit down Harry’s chin because he _knew_ Harry did that on purpose, _knowing_ what it would do to Peter, and judging by the pleased chuckle Harry let go of, the little bugger was well aware of what it did to Peter now.

“You’re _nasty_ , you know that, Deputy Potter?” Peter murmured, looking up at Harry from under messy bangs before he took one pebbled nipple into his mouth and bit into it lightly, grinning internally when Harry groaned and threw his head back, eyes slipping closed while his whole body arched into Peter, feet digging into the soft mattress as strong thighs pressed against Peter’s sides.

“And you’re a fucking _tease_ ,” Harry gasped, glaring down at Peter only to gasp and curse when the werewolf nibbled on his sensitive nipple, making something very familiar coil in the pit of Harry’s stomach.

Peter chuckled against Harry’s chest, laying wet kisses on heated skin as he tucked his hands inside Harry’s boxers and groped the pert little ass he _adored_. Harry groaned and fisted his hands in Peter’s hair, pushing him down, and Peter just laughed quietly as he nipped on the other nipple, squeezing the globes of Harry’s ass before he teased the wizard’s entrance with a finger, enjoying the breathless mewl that simple action drew from Harry.

Feeling that devious pair of lips moving down his stomach, Harry let go of a breath of relief, sagging against the mattress and arching his hips into it, trying to urge Peter to go faster with his actions since his brain refused to cooperate on forming actual sentences.

Peter chuckled against Harry’s stomach, biting one jutting hip bone before soothing the bite with his tongue, and Harry trembled beneath him, mewling in need and passion. Peter pushed Harry’s boxers down only to growl when he realized that he would have to move to actually get them off, and with a smirk he ripped the piece of clothing apart, startling Harry and making him look at Peter with a wide eyed stare.

“That was my favorite pair!” he snapped while Peter climbed over him, snickering under his breath and slamming his lips against Harry’s while he wrapped his right hand around the already hard cock between Harry’s legs. Harry groaned, his hands flopping against the mattress before he dragged them up and fisted them in the covers above his head, hips rolling with every tug of Peter’s hand.

Peter smirked as he bowed down and crawled backwards a bit, circling the head of Harry’s cock with his thumb and spreading the little pearly beads of pre-come already gathering at the slit before he ducked and licked them away, a shiver trailing down his spine when Harry let go of a long, drawn out moan and arched off of the bed, toes curling into the mattress as Peter closed his mouth around the head of Harry’s weeping member.

There was not a single moment of hesitation as Peter started stroking Harry’s hard flesh, lips parting over the head, and he slipped his left hand under Harry’s right thigh, pressing down on Harry’s hip to restrain his squirming lover. The whine of disappointment put a smirk on Peter’s face, and he let go of Harry’s cock slipping his right arm under Harry’s left thigh, before he slowly bobbed his head, each time taking more and more of Harry into his mouth.

He slowly relaxed his throat, breathing through his nose and doing his best to stop himself from moaning at the pure taste of _Harry_ bursting on his tongue, his eyes slipping closed in pleasure when Harry let go of a breathless scream, coming down Peter’s throat when Peter deep-throated him and swallowed around the thick length.

Licking his lips and wiping his chin for even the smallest drops before he sucked his fingers into his mouth, Peter climbed over Harry, dilated orbs soaking in the sight of the wizard boneless against the white sheets, limbs trembling, skin rosy, muscles cramping up as his orgasm shook his body, perfect lips swollen and parted, and amazing, dilated emerald eyes staring at the ceiling with an unfocused gaze, completely sated and blown.Peter lied down on top of Harry, making the wizard hiss when the rough material of Peter’s jeans rubbed against Harry’s overly-sensitive member, and Peter wrinkled his nose squinting at the glare he received from his lover.

“Dick…” Harry grumbled and Peter chuckled, shifting just a bit so that his naked stomach rubbed against Harry’s spent length, and he entwined his fingers on Harry’s chest, resting his chin on top of them.

“You know you love me,” Peter purred and Harry scoffed, giving the back of Peter’s head a gentle slap.

“You’re _lucky_ I love you, you _fiend_ ,” Harry grumbled and Peter gifted him with a tight-lipped grin, blowing cool air over Harry’s heated skin and making him shiver.

“Ready for round two?” Peter teased only to laugh when Harry squawked in outrage, smacking Peter’s shoulders and bucking under him until Peter got off of Harry, laughing merrily as they engaged in a mock fight which ended abruptly when Harry grabbed a pillow and hit Peter over the head making the werewolf lose his balance and topple to the side, the sound of impact which echoed through the room when Peter’s head met the metal rod of the headboard making Harry gasp in fright and drop the pillow.

“Oh my God, Peter! Are you okay?” Harry hurried closer to Peter who was groaning and holding on to his head, lying on his side as Harry kneeled beside him. “Let me see, damn it…” Harry muttered as he tried to make Peter move his hands only to still when a choked up laugh escaped Peter.

Harry looked down at him with wide eyes full of outrage, while Peter flopped onto his back laughing like an idiot. “You son of a bitch!!”

“Ouf!!” Peter huffed and groaned when Harry hit his stomach, jumping forward when the wizard went to climb off of the bed. “No you won’t!” he growled and his fingers danced over Harry’s sides.

“Peter, let go! Let go of me!” Harry cried out between bouts of laughter, trying to escape those skillful digits. “Peter, let go!” Harry flopped onto his back and Peter kneeled over him, huffing for air as he braced his hands on either sides of Harry’s head.

Harry calmed down slowly, glaring up at Peter although his lips were quivering from the strain of trying to suppress a smile.

“It _did_ hurt, you know?” Peter stated matter-of-factly, and Harry rolled his eyes with a snort, cupping Peter’s head between his hands and pulling him down to kiss his forehead.

“There,” he muttered, “all better.”

Peter raised his head as Harry’s hands landed on either sides of his head, and he cocked an eyebrow at the wizard. “That all?” he murmured, lying down beside Harry and bracing himself on his left elbow, his right hand settling on Harry’s chest, right over the quickly beating heart. “Don’t I deserve a bit more?” he asked with a smirk and Harry rolled his eyes.

“Idiot,” he muttered and smacked Peter’s shoulder gently, while Peter huffed and tilted his head to the left, looking at Harry with such warmth in his gaze that it took Harry’s breath away.

“But I’m _your_ idiot,” he murmured warmly and Harry laughed quietly, leaning up and fisting his left hand on the back of Peter’s head as he kissed him lovingly, dragging his tongue over Peter’s bottom lip before he sucked it between his teeth and nibbled on it, drawing a needy groan from the werewolf.

Peter settled his right hand on Harry’s side, giving it a small squeeze, and Harry rolled towards him, making Peter lie down on the soft bed as Harry deepened the kiss and slipped his hand from Peter’s hair to his chest, bracing himself on his right forearm. Harry trailed his left hand down Peter’s chest feeling the hard muscles flexing under his fingertips, and a shiver passed down his back when he reached the obvious tent in Peter’s trousers, his own member twitching in interest.

He moaned when Peter’s hands tangled in his wild, raven hair, and Harry broke the kiss, expertly opening Peter’s trousers with one hand, smirking at the werewolf. “ _That’s_ how it’s done,” he murmured, slipping lower and Peter scoffed at him, but before he could answer with a witty remark, Harry tucked his hand within Peter’s briefs and took a hold of his neglected member, giving it a firm tug and sending every thought in Peter’s head into oblivion.

Harry nipped down Peter’s chin, leaving a series of bite marks behind which faded soon after, and Harry moved lower, slipping between Peter’s legs and tugging his trousers and briefs down, throwing them to the side before he sat back on his legs and leaned back on his arms, smirking when Peter raised his head and quickly sat up.

He grabbed a hold of Harry’s head, digging his fingers in the tender skin behind Harry’s ears, and Harry placed his hands on Peter’s chest, flicking the pebbled nipples with his index fingers and making Peter growl. In the next moment Peter wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist and lifted him up, climbing to his knees as Harry laughed against Peter’s lips.

Peter laid Harry down with his head on the fluffy pillows, and Harry hummed when the werewolf started kissing down his chest again, his own cock starting to harden under Peter’s tender ministrations.

“You wanna go on?” Peter asked in the middle of working a nice little love bite on the junction of Harry’s neck and right shoulder, which he _knew_ would be hardly hidden by the collar of Harry’s uniform.

“Will you ask that _every_ time we’re about to have sex?” Harry asked in obvious amusement, although his eyes were looking at Peter filled with warmth, and the werewolf huffed and kissed Harry, groaning when the wizard brushed his hands through Peter’s hair, blunt nails scrapping against his scalp.

With a whispered curse, Peter leaned over Harry and opened a drawer in the nightstand, taking out a bottle of lube only to drop it on the pillow when Harry rolled his hips teasingly, and Peter growled at him, eyes flashing beta-gold and making Harry shiver, a wavering breath leaving his lips.

“You just don’t know when to stop teasing,” Peter growled opening the bottle with one hand while Harry laughed quietly and pushed against Peter’s chest a bit.

“Hello kettle…” he muttered and Peter rolled his eyes, moving back to give Harry some space. The wizard grabbed a pillow before he tucked it under his hips and Peter settled between Harry’s parted thighs, coating his fingers in the gooey substance, closing the bottle and throwing it to the side before he leaned over Harry, bracing his weight on his left hand. He teased Harry’s lips into a light kiss, resting his forehead on Harry’s as he teased the wizard’s entrance by circling it with a sleek finger.

“You tell me to stop, alright?” Peter murmured, nuzzling his nose against Harry’s.

“Sure,” Harry answered quietly, licking the seam of Peter’s bottom lip before kissing him gently, and Peter slowly pushed one finger inside Harry’s tight, welcoming heat.

Harry held his breath for a second, arching up into Peter’s warmth and pushing down on the singe digit when Peter hesitated, and the werewolf laughed quietly, ducking his head to kiss and nip on Harry’s neck. He worked his finger in and out of Harry, listening to the soft gasps rolling off of Harry’s lips and enjoying the way Harry rocked under him, his legs spreading further open as he rested his hands on the pillow under his head.

Harry rolled his head to the right, covering his lips with the back his fingers as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, all but overwhelmed by Peter’s lips adoring his skin as he prepared Harry for something bigger and better than mere fingers.

Although if Harry was asked, he could come just with them inside him.

Peter looked up when Harry groaned at the adding of another digit, and a small smirk tilted Peter’s lips when Harry raised his left hand to wrap it around the metal bar of the headrest.  His right hand was curled against perfect, kiss-abused lips, and a bright blush tinted Harry’s cheeks red, spreading to the top of his heaving chest. Raven, sweaty strands of hair clung to Harry’s forehead and spread on the white pillow like a halo, and Peter couldn’t help but wonder for a moment what this beautiful creature found in him. He wondered what Harry saw in him that made him fall in love with Peter, despite him being a werewolf.

“Pete…” Harry’s warm voice washed over Peter and he looked at Harry’s beautiful face, finding him looking at him with such a tender, loving gaze that it left Peter breathless. He leaned in for a kiss, curling his fingers _just right_ and Harry moaned into Peter’s mouth, whole body tensing up as Peter rubbed Harry’s prostate firmly, sending wave after wave of pleasure over Harry’s body.

“ _God_ , I love you,” Peter blurted out, resting his forehead on Harry’s and staring deep into those beautiful eyes.

“Love you too,” Harry answered, brushing his fingers through Peter’s hair, lips falling open in a breathless gasp when Peter added another finger. He felt the minute tensing of Harry’s body and stilled, waiting for Harry to adjust, and he swallowed heavily when Harry’s blunt nails dug into his neck.

“Breathe, love,” he murmured, kissing Harry’s forehead and eyes, nibbling on perfect lips as he slowly pulled his fingers out, before pushing back in, rubbing against the wizard’s sweet spot to chase the uncomfortable pain away. “Breathe.”

Harry nodded minutely, letting go of the breath he was unconsciously holding, and Peter nudged Harry’s nose with his own, teasing Harry into a kiss by pecking those perfect lips several times in a row.

Harry moaned into Peter’s mouth when the werewolf started a slowly rhythm, curling and rotating his fingers within Harry’s loosening channel, brushing over Harry’s prostate every other time in a promise of pleasure yet to come.

“God, Pete, please… _please_ , just…”

“Hush…” Peter whispered against Harry’s brow and slowly pulled his fingers out, wincing as he shifted his weight off of his left knee and arm, and settling more comfortably as he spread what lube was left over his by now aching length.

He swallowed difficultly as he raised his head, Harry’s eyes opening as he looked up at Peter, and the werewolf aligned his cock with Harry’s entrance, holding his breath as he pushed inside, fumbling to catching himself on both hands as pleasure surged through his body, making him lose balance for a moment. Harry squeezed his eyes tightly shut, reminding himself to breathe as Peter slowly pushed inside him. He could feel every _inch_ of the thick, hard length filling him, and his heart beat as though it would fly right out of his chest.

“God!” Harry gasped, arching up when Peter entered him in a swift thrust, his hands wrapping around the metal rod above his head, while Peter gasped, bowing his head as his hands fisted in the sheets, every muscle in his body trembling with strain as he pulled out of the tight, constricting heat.

Peter raised his head, looking at Harry with beta-gold eyes, the wolf just short of coming out as his teeth started to sharpen and his jaw jutted out a bit. The pace quickened, every hard thrust rocking Harry’s body and forcing a choked up breath out of him, and he dug his head back into the pillow, planting his feet firmly into the mattress and meeting Peter thrust for thrust.

A low growl rumbled in Peter’s chest as he bowed his head, pressing his teeth tightly together and squeezing his eyes shut, claws ripping into the white sheets as he struggled to push the wolf back into the corners of his mind.

“Pete…” He looked up only to have his face cupped within gentle, trembling hands, and soft lips covered his, a choked up, breathless whine leaving his lips as Harry cursed, his orgasm washing over him and pulling Peter over the edge.

“Fuck!” Peter cursed, while Harry whimpered, wrapping his arms around Peter’s shoulders and burying his face in his neck, as the werewolf’s knot took hold, growing within Harry and making it impossible for Peter to move as the rhythmic clenching of Harry’s channel milked Peter for all he was worth.

He collapsed on top of Harry, his arms and legs giving up on him, and the wizard hugged him tight against his chest, trembling under Peter’s weight.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“Shhh…” Harry hushed him, combing his right hand through Peter’s damp hair and squeezing against Peter’s sides with his thighs in quiet reassurance. “It’s okay. Everything’s alright.” Harry comforted quietly, glad that Peter couldn’t see him wince at the feeling of the knot pulsating within him.

 _That_ was something he hadn’t gotten used to yet, but something he didn’t mind in the least. It meant Peter’s wolf recognized him as Mate, and while Peter hated it for happening every time because it inevitably hurt Harry, the wizard couldn’t help but love the werewolf all the more. Peter raised his head slowly, looking in Harry’s emerald orbs, his own still glowing bright yellow, and Harry gifted him with a small smile, caressing Peter’s cheek with the back of his left hand.

Peter tilted his head to the side and kissed the palm of Harry’s hand before he rested his forehead on Harry’s, forcing down a difficult swallow, not even _trying_ to move until the knot eased up. He made that mistake _once_ and it resulted in some heavy tearing, _which_ led to Peter finding out that Harry was a wizard at the same time as Harry figured out that Peter was in fact a werewolf, but that didn’t matter right now.

“You okay?” Harry murmured, nuzzling his nose against Peter’s, continuously brushing his fingers through Peter’s hair and over his cheeks, knowing it would make it easier for the werewolf by calming him a bit quicker.

Peter snorted and opened his eyes, looking down at Harry in honest amazement, eyes glimmering with love and adoration. “Are _you_ okay?” Peter asked and Harry laughed quietly, pecking Peter’s lips.

“I’m alright,” Harry answered in a soft whisper only to wince when Peter shifted his weight on his left forearm.

“Yeah, right,” Peter muttered, placing his right hand on Harry’s left hip.

Moments later Harry let go of a long sigh, not needing to see Peter’s hand to know that there were black veins pulsating up the appendage, carrying Harry’s pain away.

“I’ll get used to it with time,” Harry murmured lovingly and Peter licked his lips, huffing as he shook his head and hid his face in Harry’s neck.

“You’re too damn perfect…” he gasped and Harry chuckled, kissing the side of Peter’s head and breathing out when the hard member within him seemed to grow smaller.

Peter winced as he braced his weight on his hands and slowly started to pull out of Harry, hearing the wizard’s heartbeat stutter and his breath hitch in his throat. Peter collapsed on his side, but not before glancing between Harry’s legs, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that there was no blood on the white sheets.

He struggled for a moment with the covers, followed by Harry’s muffled laughter, and Peter lied back down, covering them both before he pulled Harry into his arms. He placed his hand on the small of Harry’s back, concentrating on taking what little pain remained away, and a small smile tilted his lips when Harry breathed out and relaxed against him, sneaking one arm around Peter’s waist before he tucked his head under Peter’s chin.

“Do you want to go to Macy’s for breakfast?” Harry murmured already half asleep. “I don’t need to be at the station before noon.” Peter smiled, kissing the crown of Harry’s head before he hugged him a bit tighter.

“We could go to my house. Talia is _dying_ to ask you a bit more about wards and such things.” Harry hummed and nuzzled his head against Peter’s chest.

“Sure,” he yawned and sighed. “We’ll do that.”

Harry was asleep not a moment later, and Peter licked his lips, kissing the top of Harry’s head again before he nuzzled his cheek against the velvety, black locks. Closing his eyes Peter relaxed and slowly surrendered to the sweet call of Morpheus.

**cut**

Harry woke up with a start, his mind immediately aware that something was wrong, but before he could react, a heavy hand covered his mouth and he found himself with a wand pointed at his forehead.

“Stay quiet or lover-boy dies,” threatened a distorted, unfamiliar voice, and Harry strained to look to the side, his eyes widening when he found another assailant standing over Peter with a wand pointed at the werewolf’s head, the tip already glowing green with the Killing Curse. Harry turned a murderous glare at the one holding him at wand point, only to lose his breath when he found another one standing right behind him with something round in his hands.

“Put it on him and let’s move it,” hissed another unfamiliar voice, but before Harry could even summon his wand from his jeans which lay forgotten in the living room, the one holding him down cast the Binding Spell on him, and he had to remember the threat on Peter’s life to stop himself from screaming. Peter may be a werewolf, but he wouldn’t be fast enough to protect himself from wizards obviously having no qualms about killing him.

Harry was broken from his thoughts by something cold snapping around his neck, and he choked up when a wave of dark, sinister magic passed over him, taking his breath away.

“Stupefy him and let’s move it. We’re on a tight schedule.”

And before Harry could do anything, red light left the wand pointed at him, and he knew no more.

**cut**

_Present_

**cut**

Alan stared at Harry as the wizard finished his drink, emerald eyes staring at something only Harry could see past Alan’s left shoulder.“I didn’t know it would happen, Alan, I _swear_ …” Harry whispered brokenly. “I thought it was over. I thought I was - I was _free_ of - of _destiny_ and all that _bullshit_ , but…”

“Harry…” Alan moved forward, fully intending to pull Harry into a hug before figuring out what to say, but at that moment they heard the bell signaling someone entering the clinic downstairs.

“Deaton!” Harry tensed up, recognizing Scott’s voice, and Alan shot him an apologetic glance, only to see Harry rubbing at his eyes, already climbing to his feet. “Deaton, we need your help!!”

“Let’s go,” Harry murmured and made his way towards the door with Alan following close behind, the two rushing down the stairs and entering the front of the clinic, startling the group of young people who expected to find only Alan there.

“Agent Potter? What are you - never mind,” Stiles cut himself off, shaking his head and running his hands through his hair before he glanced at the others. “We have a problem,” he said and looked at Alan who turned to Harry who merely shook his head.

“Come into the back,” Alan said and turned around while Harry nodded at Scott and the two girls trailing behind them before following after the Emissary. They entered the examination room and gathered around the table with Harry standing just behind Alan, strong arms crossed over his chest.

“What happened?” Alan asked, bracing his hands on the metal table. The teens exchanged glances of quiet communication, trying to decide which one would speak, and all eyes settled on Scott, who took a deep breath before facing his mentor.

“Derek hasn’t answered my calls for a while now, so we went to see him at his apartment,” Scott spoke in a grave tone, digging through the pockets of his jacket. “This is what we found.”

He raised his right hand over the table, and Harry and Alan almost held their breaths when several bullet-shells fell on the metal surface, the sounds of impact echoing through the room.

Scott swallowed gravely as he took a step back and buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “There was blood…” he murmured, and Alan looked at them with slightly pained eyes, although there was no other reaction before he looked at Harry, who was staring at the group of teens in slight trepidation.

“Derek, as in…”

“Derek Hale,” Stiles interrupted Harry who looked at him, emerald eyes glimmering with something unreadable, and Stiles shifted in his place as he swallowed audibly, crossing his arms over his chest and hunching his shoulders as he shifted his weight. Harry looked at Alan who in turn turned to the table, taking one of the bullet-shells while Harry came closer. Not a second later, as Alan turned the shell, Harry’s eyebrows narrowed and his lips pulled into a thin line while Alan forced down a swallow and licked his lips.

“The Calaveras,” Harry pressed out through his teeth and Alan nodded. Harry looked at the teens, finding the red-head girl looking at him with something akin to fascination, while the delicate Japanese girl shifted in her place, obviously uncomfortable.

“What did _they_ want with Derek?” he asked Alan who sighed and shook his head.

“A lot of things happened in Beacon Hills that you don’t know of, Harry,” Alan spoke in a grave voice, “and it would take time to tell you everything.”

“Yeah, time which we don’t have,” Stiles spoke up, rubbing his face with his right hand before he tucked both hands into his pockets in a vain attempt to stop them from shaking.

“We think that they took him,” Scott said. “There was blood, but I couldn’t trace his scent past the parking lot in front of his building, which means that they took him away in a car.”

“The Calaveras are mercenaries,” Harry spoke up, crossing his arms over his chest. “They are mercenaries disguised as hunters. If they have Derek, then they can be… _persuaded_ to give him back.”

“For a certain price,” Alan continued where Harry left off, and the wizard nodded.

“Although what they’d need Derek for is beyond me,” he muttered and covered his lips with his right fist.

“I can’t feel anything,” Lydia spoke up, glancing from Alan to Harry who looked at her with a narrow-eyed stare. “Which - which means that he’s still alive, right?”

“Lydia is a Banshee,” Alan supplied quietly and Harry cocked an eyebrow, staring at Lydia with something akin to amazement.

“I’ve never met a Banshee before,” he murmured, nodding his head at Lydia. “Pleased to meet you, miss…”

“Lydia Martin and Kira Yukimura,” Stiles cut Harry off, “now can we _please_ go back to figuring out how to get Derek back!” Heavy silence settled among them as Stiles shifted his weight, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he bit into his right thumb.

“The best thing to do is to talk to your dad, Stiles,” Harry spoke wisely and Stiles shook his head.

“No,” he muttered looking at Harry. “No, way. Dad would insist on starting a search and by the time they get _anything_ , Derek could be dead. We need to go after them _now_.”

“Stiles, when we said that they would give Derek back for a _price_ , we didn’t mean a few hundred dollars,” Alan reasoned, although both he and Harry were under the impression that the teens had already decided to go one way or another. “The _least_ you need to offer them is thirty thousand American dollars.”

That stunned the teens into silence, all four of them staring at Alan with wide eyes.

“But…” Stiles choked out, blinking rapidly as though he was trying to fight back tears of frustration. “But we need to get him back!” he spoke, looking at Harry who narrowed his eyes at the teen.

“And we will,” Harry spoke after a few moments, squaring his shoulders and nodding minutely. “But if you insist on not telling John, I will have to insist on something too.”

“What?” Scott asked, taking a small step back and Harry looked at him.

“You’ll give me twelve hours to get the money,” Harry said, making the teens gape at him. “And I’ll be going with you.”

Scott, Stiles, Lydia and Kira exchanged glances while Alan turned to Harry, receiving a small shake of Harry’s head as a sign to wait.

“We’ll need to think of a good excuse,” Lydia spoke up. “It could take a day or two, depending on where the Calaveras are.”

“We’ll say we’re going camping before the new school year starts,” Stiles blurted out and the other three looked at him while Harry cocked an eyebrow at the hyperactive teen.

“Sounds good enough,” Scott spoke and turned to look at Harry and Alan. “Will twelve hours be enough for you to get enough money?”

“More than enough,” Harry said. “Although I’m _still_ not happy with this,” he warned, casting a glance in Stiles’ direction.

“You’re going with us, right?” Kira spoke up, offering a wavering smile and stretching the sleeves of her shirt over her fingers. “I mean, Stiles and Scott told us about you. You’re a wizard, right? We’ll be fine!”

Harry snorted and shook his head before he sighed and brushed his right hand through his hair. “Alright,” he said and rubbed his nose with his index finger. “I guess we’re going to Mexico.”

The four teens exchanged wide-eyed glances before speaking at the same time. “Mexico?!”

**cut**

**Hope you’ve liked it!!!!**

**Read what happens next in ‘The Bad Moon’.**

 


	4. The Bad Moon

**cut**

**This chapter is dedicated to groovyger’s little brother who passed away suddenly in September. I pray in my heart for his peace, and for the peace of her family.**

**cut**

Stiles swallowed audibly as he looked at Harry before sparing a glance at the back seat at Scott, Lydia and Kira. The silence in the car was almost deafening, and Stiles couldn’t help but feeling nervous on top of not having slept for a good few nights, first because of researching Harry and then spending the night worrying about Derek.

The other teens were in no better condition. Scott was rolling the whole plan around in his mind, trying and failing to find any loopholes besides the obvious ones. Lydia was having a bit of a dilemma, grumbling quietly about the stupidity of the plan, _sure_ that they would all end up killed and yet at the same time thinking that very few things could go wrong when they had someone like Harry on their team, and Kira?

Well, Kira was generally hoping she wouldn’t screw up. She was still somewhat new to this whole saving people thing, and while she knew Scott, Stiles and Lydia had some experience, she was still a bit untrusting of Agent Potter, who hadn’t sad a word ever since they got into his _Hyundai Genesis_ and made their way to Mexico.

Their parents were certain the four of them had left on a camping trip, and while they were glad that they wouldn’t worry it also meant help would be slow to come if something went wrong.

“Calm down, all of you,” Harry spoke for the first time since they started on this rescue mission, and everyone looked at him, Stiles actually jumping in his seat and squawking, earning himself a cocked eyebrow from Harry, and exasperated sighs from his friends. “Getting nervous now will get us no where.”

“You seem perfectly calm, Agent Potter,” Lydia commented tightly, and Harry looked at her through the rearview mirror, changing gears and shifting his jaw as he focused on the road again, pushing the gas pedal and letting go of a deep sigh.

“I’ve done things of far greater risk with far _less_ experienced people,” he muttered, gloved hands clenching tightly around the steering wheel as he looked at the seemingly endless sand around them.

“I sincerely doubt you’ve worked with less experienced people,” Stiles grumbled only to have Harry snort at him and spare him a glance accompanied by a smirk.

“I’ve won a war fought against dark wizards, werewolves, trolls and vampires with students varying from ages fourteen to seventeen, a couple of professors and a handful of wizarding police,” Harry drawled, making the teenagers gape at him.

“What?” Scott piped out and Harry chuckled, sparing him a glance.

“Oh and I forgot…” he muttered, squinting at the bright sun hitting the front of his car. “There was a goblin, an army of small house elves that are hardly one meter tall and can use only cleaning and defensive magic, and a single dragon.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Stiles blurted out, staring at Harry in amazement.

“See?” Harry spared Stiles a glance and shrugged strong shoulders. “Stick to the plan and everything will work out fine.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Kira commented quietly and Harry sighed, his eyes meeting hers through the rearview mirror, and Kira shivered when those soulful emeralds pierced her heart.

“Believe me, Ms. Yukimura,” Harry spoke in a dry tone, shifting gears again and speeding down the road. “One way or another I’m going to get you all home safe and sound.”

The teens swallowed heavily, exchanging glances, for some reason absolutely trusting Harry’s promise. One thing they wondered about though.

Just what kind of life did this man lead?

**cut**

Harry took a deep breath and finished his shot of tequila, forcing the burning liquid down his throat as his gaze followed Lydia and Stiles who had just been taken into the back by a tall, bulky, bald guy. His eyes met Scott’s over the crowd and Harry pushed away from the bar, joining the dancing people on the podium and quickly locating Kira who was sitting alone, looking utterly uncomfortable.

The older man sighed and made his way over to her, flopping into the seat in front of her, much to her shock if her wide eyes and held breath were any indication. Kira tensed up when Harry leaned toward her, leveling his lips with her ear, his left hand settling on her waist.

“Relax,” he breathed in her ear, giving her side a reassuring squeeze. He turned his head, his temple lightly butting hers in a silent offer of comfort. “You’re going to attract unwanted attention before time.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized with chagrin, forcing herself to relax as Harry moved back, bracing his right arm on the tall backrest of the booth and placing his right hand calmly on his thigh, covering his lips with the side his left hand and looking at Kira from under messy bangs. “I’m just…”

“It’s understandable to be nervous,” he interrupted her and she watched as his glance darted around the room, almost missing the small upturn of his lips because of his left hand. “I haven’t been to a rave in almost eleven years,” he commented all of a sudden and Kira’s lips fell open. He looked at her with a gentle understanding gaze, and something in Kira’s heart shifted, tension slowly leaving her body. “Come on. We need to relax you a bit.”

He stood up and offered his right hand to Kira who gaped at him for a moment before understanding shone in her eyes and a small smile tilted her lips as she placed her hand in his. “I’ve never been to a rave before!” she called out to the older man who looked at her over his right shoulder, gifting her with a small smirk.

“Did you ever dance before?” he asked as he led her to the middle of the podium and she shook her head when he turned to face her.

“Not like this!” she answered, glancing at the young people moving to the beat, close to one another in a way that almost made it seem as though they were having sex right there on the dance podium.

“I can fetch Scott for you!” Harry told her, looking at her with a sincere gaze cast at her from under messy bangs. “You need to relax not get even more uncomfortable by dancing with me.”

Kira looked around at the crowd, catching sight of the bouncers looking around, and in a minute decision she wasn’t quite sure if she wouldn’t regret later she approached Harry and placed her hands on his shoulders, looking at him with wide brown eyes.

A chuckle rumbled in Harry’s chest and he shook his head placing his hands high on her waist on top of her leather jacket and ducking his head to level his lips with her right ear. “Young people…” he muttered and Kira shivered when his heavily accented, raspy voice washed over her. “You really don’t think things through thoroughly.”

Even with those words spoken Harry started to move, leading Kira’s body expertly to sway to the rhythm. Despite dancing with an older man she hardly knew or even fully trusted, Kira started to relax until a smile tilted her lips and she leaned back a bit to look at Harry, only to find him with his head bowed and eyes closed.

Not a second later those expressive eyes opened, and a smirk tilted Harry’s lips, and he spun her around, flattening her back with his front and leaning his head against the side of hers, his lips leveled with her left ear.

“Look to the left,” he murmured before Kira had time to tense up again. “Two of them coming towards us.” Kira’s breath hitched in her throat when she saw the two guys pushing through the crowd. “Scott’s at your two o’clock,” she glanced around quickly and located Scott who had just said something into a black walkie-talkie, “and we have two more bouncers coming for us from behind.”

Kira had to remind herself not to freeze up and to move with Harry’s body, hearing him chuckle against his ear. “The game is on.”

In the next moment Harry let go of Kira and slowly turned his back on her with the young kitsune glancing at him over her left shoulder, her eyes widening when he took the black leather jacket off in one fluid move, allowing it to fall onto the ground.

“Ready, Ms. Yukimura?” he called out to her and Kira swallowed difficultly, just as the two bouncers came at her from the front.

She allowed a pair of nunchuks to fall out of her jacket and into her hand, spinning them expertly as she moved backwards until she met Harry’s back, feeling the flexing of the muscles along his spine as he rotated his shoulders and neck, the soft crack of shifting joints reaching her sharp ears.

“Let’s play,” Harry bit out, and the bouncers moved.

One of them charged at him with a roar and Harry smirked as he ducked under what would have been a mean right hook, spinning his body gracefully and slamming his right arm flat against the man’s stomach, kicking the air out of his lungs before Harry danced around him and elbowed him into the middle of his spine, making the man sprawl on the ground, disoriented and in pain.

He smirked at the woman staring at him with wide eyes before he raised his gloved right hand and wiggled his index finger at her. Anger flashed in her brown eyes and she charged at him, receiving a flat palmed hit into her nose, before Harry sneaked his arm around her throat and flipped her onto her back, the hard landing leaving her breathless before unconsciousness took over.

Harry turned around just in time to see Kira land a finishing blow on the guy attacking her, turning around to look at Harry, and her eyes widened.

“Harry!” Scott cried out, running towards them, but both he and Kira were left breathless when Harry merely glanced over his right shoulder before the guy charging at him with a gun raised to shoot ended up blown away by something invisible, meeting the wall and falling down in a dead faint.

“Like I thought,” Harry murmured and the two teens gaped when the discarded jacket flew into Harry’s right hand, drawing their attention to something else.

Harry wore a form-fitting, black sleeveless turtleneck, the cuffs of his gloves reaching just above his wrists in a loose circle, and the scars covering his right forearm were there for all to see. They were pale lanes, jutting out on his skin in a seemingly random manner, zigzagging over his forearm in a strange pattern. They couldn’t think of a way for his arm to suffer such damage aside from suffering burns, but there were no patches of red skin anywhere in sight, so the only thing Kira and Scott could do was wonder.

“Let’s go,” Harry said and looked at them, pulling his jacket on. “We don’t have much time.”

**cut**

“While I am _keen_ to follow the warning of a _banshee_ ,” Araya Calavera spoke as she braced her hands on the desk standing between her and the two teens, gifting them with a smile, her eyes glimmering darkly in the muted light of the room, “I’m going to have to decline.”

Stiles and Lydia exchanged a glance, with Stiles hardly managing to stop his feet from bouncing. Unfortunately he couldn’t stop his tongue from running on him. “Come on,” he drawled, rolling his eyes and huffing. “Just give us Derek,” he looked at Araya with a hard stare, lips tilting up into a smirk, although he was nowhere _near_ as confident as he tried to appear. “I mean, haven’t you noticed what a _downer_ he is?”

Lydia stared at Stiles with wide eyes, utterly _fascinated_ by him while at the same time cursing him in her mind for letting his mouth run loose on them. “No sense of humor, poor conversationalist…” Stiles counted and Lydia couldn’t help but nod in agreement. “Just, come on, take the money.” Stiles flailed towards the remaining four stacks of neatly aligned dollars.

Araya snorted and straightened clasping her hands behind her back. “Severo,” she bit out harshly, lips tilting into a smirk. “Show them how the _Calaveras_ negotiate,” she drawled and the hulk of muscle standing to her left took his walkie-talkie and brought it to his lips, smirking at the teens above it before he spoke something in Spanish.

Araya let go of a tight-lipped, dark laugh and shifted her weight, staring pointedly at Stiles who leaned forward in his seat, his hands clasped around his knees, while Lydia’s eyes widened and her lips pressed together, swallowing audibly as she straightened in her seat.

“Someone who has been an _alpha_ for a few months,” Araya spoke darkly, “should be more careful when facing a _hunter_ of forty…” she was interrupted by three sharp knocks and everyone turned to the door while one of the bouncers standing closest to it looked at Araya, quietly asking for permission to open them.

Araya nodded minutely, glancing at Stiles and Lydia when the two exchanged a smirk, both shifting in their seats, crossing their legs and placing their hands on the armrest practically simultaneously.

The Calaveras looked at the door with wide eyes when one of them opened it, and a second later the sound of a fist meeting skin echoed through the room, before a body hit the floor.

Stiles and Lydia turned around almost leisurely, cocking an eyebrow at Harry who stood in the doorway. The agent hummed in disinterest and straightened his jacket, casually stepping on the unconscious man before he entered the room, Scott and Kira standing in the doorway, gaping at Harry in utter amazement.

“Buenas tardes, Araya,” Harry spoke calmly, clasping his hands behind his back, standing with feet at the width of his shoulders, a slight tilt to his lips, emerald eyes darkened to a hard jade. “Ha sido mucho tiempo,” he surprised the teens by speaking in fluent Spanish.

“Well, well, well,” Araya muttered, shifting her weight, looking at Harry with a hard stare, although everyone could say she was all but comfortable. “Harry James Potter,” she tsked, clasping her hands behind her back as she squinted at Harry. “ _El Sabueso_ , right in front of me.” The teens exchanged confused glances, not really understanding what was going on sans the fact that Harry and Araya seemed to know one another.

“You haven’t been keeping to our agreement, Araya,” Harry spoke, glancing at the man on the ground when he groaned and rolled to the side, and Scott and Kira jumped over him, flanking Harry even though both looked slightly uncertain about what they were supposed to do now. “I thought we had a deal that you wouldn’t work outside of Mexico.”

Araya’s lips tightened as she straightened, and Harry ducked his head a bit, looking at Araya from under messy bangs, eyes shadowed with something no one could name.

“Who are you to march into _our_ home…”

“Severo!” Araya snapped at the hotheaded man who looked at the old woman, slightly taken aback, only to step to the side a second later, shooting Harry a hateful glare. Araya licked her lips and focused on Harry again, who shifted his weight uncaringly, tucking his left hand into the pocket of his jacket and raising his right to rub his nose with his index finger.

“You see, Araya,” he spoke, starting a slow prowl forward, “if I remember correctly, we had a _deal_.” He stopped beside Stiles and Lydia and braced his hands on the back of their chairs, leaning forward just a bit as he stared at the huntress. “You stick to your borders, you do whatever you want _here_ , you _don’t mix_ into what happens outside of Mexico, and we never see each other again.”

Araya shifted her jaw, obviously not knowing what to say, and Harry chuckled darkly as he straightened and looked around. “Now, call me provincial, but I _do think_ that you coming to Beacon Hills and attacking a werewolf not under your jurisdiction isn’t exactly _sticking to our deal_.”

“Listen to me…”

“No,” Harry cut her off, his voice dropping for an octave or so, his face becoming a mask of coldness and danger wrapped into cool indifference. “ _You_ will listen to _me_ ,” he growled, sending a shiver down everyone’s spines. “Since you and I both know how much you _love_ money, I think it’s safe to assume that you don’t have Derek here,” the teens startled, looking at Harry with almost matching expressions of shock. “But something tells me that you know where he is.”

Araya forced down a swallow, raising her head proudly although her lips quivered. “You _will_ tell me where he is, or I swear to all that is holy I will burn this city to the ground searching for him, with every. Single. One of you mercenary bastards under lock and key within it. You _know_ I will.” Harry straightened and tucked his hands inside his pockets, cocking an eyebrow at Araya.

“What’s it gonna be, Araya?” he asked, standing to full height and looking down at the old huntress. “Either you tell me where Derek is, or I burn this whole place to the ground with you in it.” Harry nodded at Stiles and it took a moment for the teen to realize Harry gave him a sign to take the money off the table.

Stiles fumbled as he grabbed the money, putting it back into his pockets before he shifted in his seat, rubbing his hands against his thighs and looking at Lydia who was sitting in her chair, straight as a board with hands flat on her thighs, eyes closed tightly and lips pressed in a thin line.

“You have twelve hours to decide,” Harry said, glancing at the grandfather clock to his right. “If I don’t have an answer by then, I’ll consider it a no.” He turned on his heel and it took the teens a moment to realize that they were leaving. Stiles and Lydia scrambled to their feet all but running after Harry, with Scott and Kira hurrying after them.

It took them less than five minutes to get out of the club and into the chilly night air, but the teens still had trouble believing what happened. They followed after Harry who walked in a brisk step down the empty streets toward where he parked his car, and the air around him promised swift retribution to anyone stupid enough to get in his way.

They took a turn into a dark street, and the teens startled when with a flick of Harry’s wrist the sleek _Hyundai Genesis_ appeared out of thin air, but before anyone could comment on it Harry turned around and his eyes racked over them, searching for any imperfections.

“I won’t ask if you’re fine, because I doubt you are, but I need to know if any one of you is in any way injured,” Harry spoke quietly glancing behind the group of teens as though to make sure they weren’t followed.

“I’m fine,” Kira was the first to answer, her hands clasped in front of her as she wrung her fingers, tugging on the sleeves of her shirt.

“Ditto,” Scott nodded before all eyes settled on Lydia and Stiles. Stiles looked a bit pale while Lydia stared at Harry in slight shock and amazement, although sparks of fear were also darkening her pretty eyes.

“I could feel it,” Lydia spoke in a weak voice, her eyes widening as she stared at Harry. “I could feel it rolling off of you in - in _waves_. Like… Like _darkness_ and _evil_ and…”

“It’s called killing intent, Ms. Martin,” Harry spoke in a soft tone, voice low and raspy as he placed his left hand on his hip and rubbed his mouth with his right hand. “And I’m sorry you had to go through that. I had to make sure that Derek wasn’t there.”

“So the whole charade with the money…” Stiles said and his voice broke. “It was all a test?” he looked at Harry, flickers of heartfelt betrayal going through cinnamon colored eyes and Harry’s eyes darkened as he looked at him.

“I known that we don’t know each other, Stiles, and that I haven’t given you a reason to trust me, but don’t think so low of me as to believe that I would put you in any kind of unnecessary danger, just to get information I could have gotten by simply reading the mind of one of those goons that attacked us,” Harry pressed out through his teeth and Stiles’ eyes widened, his shoulders tensing up as those soulful emeralds stared at him.

“I did a lot of things I regret and am all sorts of a bad man, but I would _never_ go against everything your father did for me by putting his son in danger. Not without making damn sure you’d be as safe as possible.” The certainty in Harry’s voice triggered something within Stiles’ heart, and the teen took a small step back, tucking his hands inside his pockets and ducking his head.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles murmured and Harry forced down a heavy swallow, dragging his right hand through his hair and shifting his weight as he looked around.

“Well, at least now we know that Derek isn’t here,” Scott spoke up, trying to lighten the air only to achieve the complete opposite effect.

“And that only brings up more questions,” Harry muttered, rubbing his face with his hand before he took a deep breath and held it for a moment. “Get in the car,” he bit out, the tone of his voice leaving no room for argument as he walked around the front of the car. The teens hurried to obey with Stiles taking the front seat again and the other three squeezing into the back with Scott in the middle.

Harry started the car and skidded out of the alley, making the others grab hold of something because of the force of the turn, dust rising around the car as they sped out of the village.

“Where are we going?” Lydia asked and Harry spared her a glance through the rearview mirror.

“We’re going to the closest town and getting a hotel room. You guys need to get some rest while I take care of a few things,” Harry spoke, lips hardly moving.

“Alone?” Stiles asked with a frown of concern and Harry glanced at him before letting go of a quiet snort.

“Son, I’ve been alone for quite some time now,” he said, eyes hard and serious. “And believe me when I tell you that you don’t want to be there while I take care of it.”

“What are you going to do?” Kira asked and Harry pressed his lips together before pursing them slightly as he dragged his tongue over his upper teeth, his left hand clenching around the wheel, while his right pressed down on the gear shift stick, expertly changing gears as he floored the gas pedal.

“I’m going to find out who took Derek.”

His words made the four teens exchange wide-eyed glances. “And how will you do that?” Lydia asked, and a small smirk tilted Harry’s lips although there was no mirth or mischievousness in his shadowed eyes.

“ _That_ is why you’re not going with me, Ms. Martin,” Harry answered dryly.

“Mr. Potter…”

“It’s Harry, Scott,” the agent corrected the young alpha, glancing at him through the rearview mirror. “I may be old enough to be your dad, but I’m not _that_ old.” That startled chuckles from the gathered teens, and a small smile tugged on Harry’s lips, his eyes softening considerably as his hold on the wheel eased up a bit. “And that goes for all of you.”

“Is there any other way to find out who took Derek _without_ you risking your life?” Stiles asked, making Harry raise an eyebrow at him. “Because in all honesty, I’m not all that comfortable with you going anywhere alone. You may be a wizard, but they have guns.”

“And what makes you think that they would ever be able to hurt me?” Harry asked in a dry tone. Stiles rolled his eyes and huffed, sinking in his seat as he ducked his head, plucking on a loose thread on the sleeve of his hoodie.

“I don’t know,” Stiles murmured. “I just don’t want my dad’s friend to get hurt because of us.”

Harry swallowed audibly as he glanced at Stiles before he took a deep breath and shifted in his seat. “Stiles, I’m doing this to help you and to make sure no one gets hurt, and because I know Derek.”

“Because you’ve dated Peter?” Stiles asked quietly, not failing to notice the minute tensing of Harry’s shoulders or the line appearing beside Harry’s lips.

“Yes,” Harry whispered, tongue darting out to wet suddenly dry lips as he blinked rapidly a few times. “I dated Peter when I was first in Beacon Hills, before I was taken and before he…” Harry shut his mouth, turning his head to the side for a second before he looked back at the road in front of them. “Before he was killed,” he added in a hardly audible murmur, and the four teens exchanged glances before Stiles looked at Harry, lips opening and closing several times in his attempt to speak.

Stiles exchanged a glance with Scott, raising his eyebrows in a quiet question, and Scott returned with an expression of desperate indecision, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders cluelessly.

Stiles took a deep breath, puffing up his cheeks as he stared at Harry, groaning as he breathed out and hit his thighs with his hands, tapping against them in a random rhythm as he pursed his lips and looked around, while the three teens in the back seat exchanged glances, utterly uncomfortable.

“Harry?” Stiles finally spoke up in a strained voice, sounding somewhat sheepish and somewhat frightful at the same time as he scratched his head with his nails before he covered his face with his hands.

“What?” Harry asked, casting the teen beside him a confused glance.

“Peter isn’t dead.”

The reaction was instantaneous.

Harry hit the brake pedal, grabbing the handbrake at the same time and everyone lurched forward, Stiles raising his arms to protect himself from the impact, and only Scott’s werewolf reflexes stopped Lydia and Kira from slamming their heads into the front seats.

The car came to a sharp stop, all five of them breathing heavily as the air filled with something unimaginable, and Stiles looked at Harry with a scrunched up face, biting the inside of his tightly pressed lips as he clasped his hands between his thighs, staring at Harry who appeared utterly shocked to say the least.

The wizard was completely still, no sign of him even _breathing_ as he stared at the darkness surrounding them. Emerald eyes were wide and unfocused, and even in the darkness, Stiles could see the pallor of Harry’s skin and the firm grip the wizard had on the wheel and the handbrake, having practically _buried_ himself back into his seat when he stopped the car.

“Harry?” Stiles piped out, and Harry breathed out sharply, a quiet whimper escaping the choked up throat, as the wizard struggled to breathe. “Harry, you need to…”

“Alive?” Harry gasped in a wavering, broken voice and looked at Stiles. “He’s _alive_.”

“Harry, Peter isn’t the same man he was before!” Scott blurted out and Harry turned around in his seat. “He - He’s the one who changed me, he _killed_ his own _niece_ …”

“No…” Harry shook his head in denial turning his back on Scott. “No, no, no, that’s not - that’s not possible.”

“Harry, he tried to kill Derek and he…”

“No!” Harry snapped, wrapping his hands around the wheel as though he was trying to stop himself from hitting something or someone.

Stiles exchanged a quick glance with Scott and the girls before opening his mouth to say something, only to be left gaping when a pained gasp left Harry’s lips and he all but tackled the door open.

The top-light switched on in the car as the teens hurried out of it, watching as Harry all but ran away, stumbling but remaining on his feet before he stopped some 10 meters away from them and dragged his hands through his hair, fisting them in it and turning in his place.

Only Scott and Kira could see the expression of utter desperation on Harry’s face and the tears filling his eyes. But all four of them heard him press out a choked up curse as he spun around again, pressing his forearms against his head.

“Fuck!”

The pain-filled roar turned into a heartbreaking scream, and the four teens scurried backwards, running into the car when something burst from Harry. Black, silver and dark green tendrils of what appeared to be electricity surged around the wizard in something resembling a globe; tearing up the ground and scorching the earth. Thunder rolled through the dark sky and the arcs of colored energy lashed out again before bursting into the sky, disappearing just before a heavy downpour fell over the land.

Scott wrapped his arms around Kira while Stiles pulled Lydia in a protective embrace, the rain falling so hard not even Scott could see Harry. They all tensed up and shivered when heavy footsteps reached their ears and Harry came out of the darkness, head bowed and surprisingly _dry_. There appeared to be some sort of a see-through, emerald _shield_ wrapped around him, hardly 10 centimeters away from his body, and the rain seemed to simply bounce off of it, small sparks of emerald static appearing where a drop would hit.

“Get in the car.” Harry’s voice was a broken, strained, hoarse whisper and the teens hurried to obey, getting into the car and closing the doors before Harry even entered it, and all four of them stared at him in trepidation as he got in, slammed the door closed harder than was necessary, lowered the handbrake, shifted gears and punched the gas pedal practically plastering everyone to their seats.

“Harry, maybe you should…”

“Start talking,” Harry interrupted Stiles cuttingly, the teen gulping when he saw just how tightly Harry was squeezing the steering wheel. “Everything. From the beginning. Tell me _everything_.”

Stiles who was holding on to the edges of his seat, turned his head around a bit to glance at Scott who nodded hurriedly, looking just as terrified as Stiles felt.

The only human in the car looked at Harry before he took a deep breath, wetted his dry lips and nodded minutely. “Well…” he forced down a swallow and breathed out. “It all started when Kate Argent seduced Derek…”

**cut**

“Here you go,” Stiles murmured as he handed Lydia a cup of warm chocolate that was delivered to their hotel room a few minutes back. They’ve arrived to the hotel almost two hours ago, and after renting them a room and asking for some warm drinks, dinner and extra blankets to be delivered to the teens, Harry disappeared somewhere, not telling them a word.

Stiles had told Harry everything, even some of the things _Scott_ didn’t know about, starting with Kate seducing and betraying Derek, how she planned and performed the fire and how only Derek, Laura, Cora and Peter survived it. He told Harry what followed, how they defeated Peter and how Derek became an alpha. He told him about Jackson turning into a kanima, how they managed to stop him, how Gerard mixed in and the way Scott tricked the old hunter.

Once he started talking, Stiles couldn’t stop. He even told Harry about Jennifer and the Alpha Pack, about the Nogitsune, and all the time Stiles spoke, Harry hadn’t said a single word.

As a matter of fact, the only time Harry spoke was when they’d arrived to the hotel. He didn’t address them, simply spoke to the receptionist in Spanish before paying for everything, handing Stiles the key and leaving the hotel without so much as a glance spared for the group of teens.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Kira spoke up quietly, nuzzled against Scott who had his arms wrapped around her, his nose buried in her damp hair.

“Of course he will,” Stiles muttered, taking a seat at the head of the second queen sized bed and leaning back against the wall, wrapping his hands around his waist.

“How can you be so sure?” Lydia whispered, looking at her cup, and the other three looked at her.

Lydia was pale, and minute trembles shook her body. Her eyes were wide, and her lips parted, and there was something in her eyes that didn’t quite _fit in_.

“How can you be so sure he would come back?” she repeated and tilted her head to the left, although her gaze remained unfocused.

“Harry won’t abandon us here, Lydia,” Stiles spoke in full certainty.

“You didn’t feel it, Stiles,” Lydia murmured. “You didn’t feel his rage and pain. You didn’t feel how _hurt_ he was or this… this _killing intent_ rolling off of him in waves.”

“Lydia…” Stiles sat up and she looked at him, meeting his hard, determined stare. “Harry won’t abandon us. He’ll come back. How would _you_ feel in his place if you just found out that the lover you though was dead is actually alive and that he did the things Peter did. We know next to _nothing_ about how Peter was before the fire. We don’t know how _Harry_ was before the fire; before he was taken by whoever took him.”

“Stiles is right,” Scott spoke up quietly and everyone looked at him. “I could smell that he was angry, but he wasn’t angry with us. If I were to take a wild guess, I’d say that he left to cool off. He doesn’t strike me as someone who likes showing his feelings in front of strangers.”

“And he doesn’t strike _me_ as an actual _bad guy_ ,” Kira muttered, attracting the others’ attention. She looked up with wide eyes, as though she didn’t really want to say that out loud. “I - I mean - Back at the club I was really nervous!” she hurried to explain. “Harry went out of his way to make me relax. He took me to the podium to dance with me, and then he offered to fetch Scott if I was too uncomfortable to dance with him! And - and even though we danced like - like everyone else I - I wasn’t uncomfortable. I felt - I felt _safe_ with him.”

“He’s messed up, that much is obvious,” Stiles said, settling back against the wall and taking one of the laces of his hoodie, playing with it and tugging on the frayed threads at the end of it. “But let’s be real,” he looked at everyone from under messy bangs, “who here _isn’t_ messed up. And he’s seventeen years older than us. If we keep on living the way we are, who says we won’t end up just like him?”

“I sincerely hope you won’t.”

The four teens jumped to their feet when Harry’s voice came from the entrance to the room, and they found the wizard leaning against the doorframe, hands buried deep in the pockets of his leather jacket, and those soul-searing eyes looking at them with an unreadable gaze. A small smile was tilting Harry’s lips, not reaching his eyes in the least, but he appeared to have calmed down greatly since there were no traces of his earlier anger and rage in those amazing orbs.

“Harry…”

“Calm down,” Harry interrupted Stiles who took a step towards the wizard, and he pushed away from the doorframe, walking into the bedroom and raising his right hand to brush it through his damp locks. “Sit,” he murmured and the teens obeyed quickly, eyes widening when the chair that was resting under the window skidded over to Harry who caught the top wooden bar of the backrest, spun the chair around and took a backwards seat in it, folding his arms on the bar and taking a deep breath.

“I need to apologize first,” he spoke in a hoarse voice, swallowing and licking his lips as his eyebrows narrowed and he looked at the ground. “I haven’t lost control like this in a while. I guess…” he hesitated and forced down a swallow, closing his eyes for a moment before he blinked a few times quickly and looked at the teens listening to him intently. “I guess the news that Peter is alive really got to me. With everything that happened lately in my life, I couldn’t stop myself from blowing up like that. I’m sorry you had to see that, although I can’t promise that it won’t happen again. I can only promise that I will try to leave before it does so you don’t have to witness me losing control like that.”

“That was you losing control?” Stiles spoke dryly, cocking an eyebrow at Harry who looked at him with a dull stare. “You should see _Scott_ when the wolf gets the better of him.”

“Hey! I’ve gotten better!” Scott cried out and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, right…” the human muttered while Scott blushed, and Kira offered him a small, reassuring smile, patting his thigh comfortingly.

“We’ve all had our insane moments,” Lydia spoke up before she scoffed and shifted in her seat. “You should hear me scream.”

“No offense, Ms. Martin,” Harry spoke with a dry smile, “but I really _don’t_ want to hear you scream.” In that moment Lydia realized what she had said, and a furious blush covered her cheeks while the others laughed quietly, the atmosphere growing lighter.

Harry’s eyes warmed up considerably and the smile which tilted his lips seemed a bit more sincere. He sighed and sat back a bit as he rubbed his face with his hands before dragging them through his damp hair. He lowered his hands to his thighs and rubbed them before he looked up and wetted his lips.

“I needed to talk with you about something before all of us try to get some sleep though,” he said and the teens looked at him seriously, with Stiles sitting up again and bracing his elbows on his knees.

“What about?” Scott asked.

“I’ve been thinking about everything you’ve told me,” Harry said, his jaw shifting as he swallowed audibly and pressed his teeth together. “Since the Calaveras didn’t take Derek, and you’ve told me Chris Argent is not a threat to him, I wondered who could have wanted to hurt Derek in any way.” The teens leaned forward in interest, with Scott and Stiles exchanging a glance while Kira and Lydia didn’t remove their gazes from Harry.

“If you haven’t missed anything, then there’s only _one_ person who could have taken Derek. One person who would have a _reason_ to take him, and the _only_ person you guys would never take into account.”

“Who?” Stiles asked with bated breath and Harry’s eyes met his.

“Kate Argent,” Harry stated firmly, shocking the teens into stupor.

“What?” Lydia breathed out, not really sure she heard right.

“That’s impossible,” Stiles shook his head. “Peter killed her. Scott and I went to the funeral…”

“What makes you think that the casket wasn’t empty?” Harry interjected and Stiles gaped while Scott looked at the ground with a thoughtful frown. “A human can change without actually being bitten by a werewolf if the claws go deep enough,” Harry recited, forcing down a heavy swallow and blinking rapidly. “Peter… He ripped Kate’s throat open. I’d say the claws went deep enough.”

The four teens shared glances of quiet communication, most turning to Stiles who stared at the ground with a thoughtful frown. “There’s another thing,” Harry spoke gravely. “One of Araya’s henchmen followed us here. I found him snooping around the hotel when I came back.” Harry took a deep breath and scratched the back of his neck with his left hand, wincing before he lowered his arm and rotated his shoulder. “I wanted to confirm my suspicions so I’ve used Legilimency on him to see his memories…”

“You can actually do that?” Stiles exclaimed in surprised interest and Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “You can read someone’s mind?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “It’s a bit difficult to read someone’s mind and it takes a lot of power and concentration, especially if it’s a normal human whose mind isn’t as - how do I put it…” Harry frowned and nibbled on his bottom lip, “ _arranged_ as a wizard’s mind. Most wizards learn the art opposite of Legilimency called Occlumency, which helps us protect our minds from Legilimency. During the learning of Occlumency, one of the first things you have to do is calm your mind which means arranging your memories and thoughts into different ‘cubicles’, for the lack of a better word.”

Harry huffed as he tried to think of a good way to explain Occlumency to the teens staring at him in avid interest. “Think of it as a mind room with different shelves, and on each shelf you store a different set of memories. Even the wizards and witches who don’t master Occlumency to the end at least learn how to do that. It was one of the conditions to me becoming an agent, or an Unspeakable in my world, if you would.”

“Unspeakable?” Kira frowned in confusion and Harry nodded.

“It’s like the secret service of the wizarding world, collaborating closely with MI6. That’s why I’m officially known as an MI6 agent, although in the Wizarding World I would be known as an Unspeakable.”

“So what did you find out when you’ve read the man’s mind?” Lydia asked and Harry took a deep breath through his nose.

“I’ve confirmed my suspicions. What happened is that when the Calaveras heard what happened in Beacon Hills they came to investigate. They went to the morgue and found Kate Argent healing from the wounds. She was already turning. They took her to Mexico and waited for her to heal completely and for the transformation to complete itself. Unfortunately, when they gave her the opportunity to kill herself in accordance to their Code, Kate tricked them, killed two of their men and escaped.”

Heavy silence settled among them as the horror and reality of their situation settled over them.

“But what does she want with Derek?” Stiles murmured, waking everyone from their thoughts.

“I don’t know, and I’m afraid there’s only one way to find out,” Harry answered and everyone looked at him. “We’ll wait until Araya decides on her next step. I have a feeling she knows where Derek really is. We’ll get him back and worry about Kate Argent later.”

“But how will Araya contact you?” Kira asked and Harry chuckled.

“ _She_ won’t,” he said, making the teens frown in confusion. “You don’t know just what kind of woman Araya is. She won’t do anything on her own if she can make someone else do the job for her.” Harry chuckled and shook his head. “If she’ll decide to help us, she’ll send someone to take us to Derek. If _not_ , well…” Harry’s eyes darkened making a shiver run down the teens’ spines. “I guess then I’ll just have to get that information from her in a different way.”

“You wouldn’t…” Stiles gulped and Harry looked at him, darkened emerald eyes making Stiles shift uncomfortably and fist his hands on his thighs. “You wouldn’t _really_ burn the whole village down just to make them _talk_ , right?”

Harry chuckled darkly as he stood up, and with a flick of his right wrist the chair skidded back to under the window. “Don’t worry, Stiles,” Harry murmured, tucking his hands inside the pockets of his jacket. “I may have done a lot of things I’m not proud off, but I’ve never hurt an innocent.” He turned his back on them and made his way out of the room. “Now get some rest. You need it.”

Harry closed the door of the bedroom on his way out, and the four teens exchanged wary glances.

“He didn’t lie,” Scott spoke up in a soft murmur. “He never lied _once_ during the whole time we’ve known him.” He directed that at Stiles who nodded and bowed his head.

“That’s what worries me, Scott,” Stiles muttered, voice breaking, and he raised his head to look at the closed door, his eyes darkening as they tend to ever since he was freed from the Nogitsune when memories of his time spent with the demon sharing his body would take over his mind. “That’s what worries me.”

Silence settled among them again before Lydia huffed and stood up, making the other three look at her. “Well, I don’t know about _you_ guys, but I am keen on listening to Harry’s advice. I need some sleep. Kira?”

The kitsune looked at Scott and he gifted her with a small smile before kissing her cheek and gently nudging her to stand up. Stiles got off of the bed while the two girls took off their jackets and shoes and slid together into the bed with Lydia turning off the night-lamp on the nightstand to the left of her and Kira’s bed.

Stiles and Scott followed their example, taking their hoodies off and toeing off their sneakers, before they slipped under the covers and settled to get some rest.

And even though none of them spoke, and all of them pretended to sleep, not one of them showed any sign of doing so, each sinking into their own thoughts. Eventually sleep claimed them all one by one well into the early hours of the morning, exhaustion and the excitement of the night finally getting to them.

In the small common room on the other side of the door, Harry lied alone on the small couch, staring at the ceiling with a dull, unfocused stare. A single tear slipped down his cheek as his eyes slid closed, and his right hand fisted in his shirt right over his heart as a wavering breath left his lips, the left hand which he used as a pillow clenching in his hair.

 _‘I’ll find you, Pete,’_ he thought to himself as he struggled to fight back the tears which wanted to fall. _‘I’ll find you and I’ll find out what happened to you. I swear.’_

**cut**

Harry walked out of the hotel into the burning sun, slipping his sunglasses on as he glanced around before turning to look at the teenagers trailing behind him.

“Well, I guess it’s safe to say that the deal is off!” Stiles spoke up, only to bite his tongue not a second later when a woman riding a sleek, black _Triumph_ , stopped right in front of Harry who didn’t even take a step back, merely cocking an eyebrow when the woman straightened and took off her helmet.

“My, my,” Harry drawled, while the teens openly gaped at the two. “It’s good to see you again, Braeden.” The dark skinned woman smirked as she slid off the bike coming to stand in front of Harry with her helmet held under her left arm and her right hand on her hip.

“Well look at you, Potter,” she muttered, not even _trying_ to hide the way her eyes racked over Harry’s form, and a smirk tilted her lips while her eyes glimmered brightly. “Got rid of that nasty collar, I see?”

Harry huffed and shifted his weight, raising his right hand to slide his glasses lower on his nose and looking at her over the rim. “And I see you’ve done some dangerous things lately,” he spoke as he glanced pointedly at the scars on her neck, making Braeden roll her eyes and snort. “Am I right to assume you’re Araya’s answer?”

“Right you are, big boy,” she drawled, glancing at the teens standing behind Harry, all four of them looking gobsmacked at her appearance. “And when did you start hanging out with kids?”

“When I decided to change my profession,” Harry muttered, pushing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and straightening. “Now, I assume you know that we’re short on time as it is, so would you get on with it.”

She looked at him again, giving him another good once over before she huffed and prowled over to her bike. “Well, then let’s go. There’s a long way ahead of us.”

“Wait! Where are we going?” Scott spoke up, running over to Harry’s side with the others following him.

Braeden smirked and looked at Harry as she put her helmet on. “We’re going to church!”

**cut**

**Hope you’ve liked it!!!**

**As you can see, I’m only loosely following the fourth season, so you don’t have to worry about not being able to follow if you didn’t watch it, which I totally understand.**

**So!!**

**I hope you’ll join me in the next installment ‘Metamorphosis’.**

**See you next time!!**

 


	5. Metamorphosis

**cut**

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**cut**

“So, where are we going again?” Lydia asked, staring at the back of Harry’s head, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the door to her right, legs crossed and hopping in nervous anxiety.

“If I’m not mistaken, we’re going to La Iglesia,” Harry spoke up, keeping his eyes trained on Braeden who was driving in front of them. “It’s an old church located in a Spanish village which was leveled by an earthquake some time ago.”

Harry shifted in his seat a bit, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel and glancing back through the rear-view mirror as though he was checking if anyone was following them. “Everything was destroyed except the church, and the locals believe that it was so because La Iglesia was build on top of an old Aztec temple dedicated to Tezcatlipoca, which was once home to the Nagual.”

“Nagual?” Kira leaned forward with a frown of confusion on her face.

“People believed to have special abilities,” Stiles was the one who answered, turning in his seat a bit to look at the kitsune. “Most commonly it is said that they could shift into jaguars.”

Silence settled among them with Kira looking at each one of the other teens with an expression of utter cluelessness, while Lydia, Scott and Stiles sunk into their own thoughts, their countenances dark and worried.

“Excuse me,” Kira spoke up to catch everyone’s attention, “but I don’t get it. As much as I know, cats and dogs don’t mix. What would Kate want in a temple build by - by were- _jaguars_? She’s a werewolf now.”

“Not necessarily,” Scott spoke up in a strained voice, clasping his hands between his thighs. “Jackson was also bitten by a werewolf and he turned into a kanima,” he explained and realization shone in Kira’s eyes. She slumped back into the seat and crossed her arms over her chest, rolling the new information around in her mind.

“Sometimes the shape you take reflects the person that you are.” Everyone looked at Harry when he spoke up. “Unlike wolves, jaguars are lone hunters. They are quick, agile and incredibly smart, capable of hunting both on land, in trees and in water, and they are strong enough to hunt down even the largest pray in the jungle.”

“So, I guess we now know what shape takes a sociopathic _bitch_.”

“Stiles,” Harry chastised lightly, although there was a small smirk tilting his lips, and Stiles offered a small smile, eyes glimmering mischievously. “Although I agree with you,” Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes, muttering something into his chin, and Harry shot him a mock glare, “what we need to ask ourselves now is what would Kate Argent want with Derek in a temple dedicated to Tezcatlipoca.” Harry straightened in his seat, wincing slightly before he shifted gears, seeing how Braeden hurried down the road, and the car skidded into a turn, dust rising behind them.

“Tezcatlipoca is known as a god of jaguars, strife, beauty, sorcery, enmity, discord, rulership, divination, temptation, obsidian and a few other things, and he’s mostly known as…”

“The Mirror God,” Harry interrupted Lydia, glancing at her as he nodded his head slowly. “He’s also connected to obsidian, which according to some ancient beliefs connects its wearer to the Earth - which Tezcatlipoca also represents, might I ad - and _that_ in turn stabilizes the body and heals it.”

“Why would Kate bring Derek to a place which could _stabilize his body and heal it_ ,” Stiles drawled, frowning at Harry, only then noticing Harry’s narrowed eyes and the tight grip the wizard had on the wheel.

“I don’t know,” Harry muttered, “but I’m liking this less and less.”

Scott was about to say something when something hit the hood of the car and Harry lost control. For a few seemingly endless moments they skidded along the road while Harry tried to gain control again, coming to a sharp stop just before they could hit a small hill to the side of the road.

The five of them sat in their seats, wide-eyed and frozen, all of them holding their breaths for a few seconds before Harry cursed and opened the door, getting out of the car just as Braeden stopped her bike several feet in front of them.

“What happened?” Braeden asked while the teens got out of the car, and Harry opened the hood, looking suspiciously at the hole in the metal. He fastened the hood and braced his hands on the edge of it, sharp gaze racking over the machinery.

“I have no idea. Something hit us,” Harry muttered and looked at Braeden. “But we don’t have time to linger. Night will soon fall, and the more time we lose the bigger the chance is that something will happen to Derek that we won’t be able to fix.” Harry rubbed his face with his hands, letting go of a heavy sigh before he turned around and looked at Scott.

“I hate to do this, Scott, but we’re left with no choice,” Harry addressed the young alpha, accenting the urgency of the situation with specific gesticulations of his right hand. “We’ll need the car to bring Derek back to Beacon Hills. You’ll go with Braeden to La Iglesia. We’ll catch up with you as soon as I fix the car. Find Derek and get him out of there, but _please_ be careful.”

Scott nodded hurriedly, glancing at Kira who stared at him frightfully while Stiles and Lydia exchanged wary stares looking at Harry and Braeden when the wizard addressed the mercenary. “Whatever they paid you to do I’ll double it if you make sure Scott and Derek are safe.” Braeden raised an eyebrow while the teens gaped at Harry, trying to find any sign that the man was either joking or bluffing, and yet finding implications of neither.

“Didn’t know you were loaded, Potter,” Braeden drawled only to lose all signs of mischief when Harry looked at her darkly, ducking his head a bit to look at her from under messy bangs.

“We don’t have time for joking,” Harry spoke with heavy warnings lacing every word. “Do you accept the job or not.” Braeden licked her lips, looking at Harry with a heavy stare before she nodded and shook hands with him.

“Sixty thousand when the job is done,” she said casually, making the teens choke up while Harry didn’t even blink at the sum.

“Deal,” he said, let go of her hand and turned to the teens. “Scott, go with Braeden.” Scott nodded minutely and looked at Kira when she grabbed a hold of his forearm.

Stiles wrinkled his face and rubbed the back of his head while Lydia looked around trying to act inconspicuous. “Stiles, you’ll help me fix the car,” Harry spoke, realizing what the teens were doing when Stiles all but ran to his side, and while Harry and Stiles made their way to the bunker of the car, Braeden observed Scott and Kira with a small smirk, following the quiet exchange and shaking her head when the two shared a tight hug before Scott took a deep breath and walked over to Braeden while Kira took her place beside Lydia.

“Don’t linger too much,” Braeden warned Harry when he and Stiles came back to the front. “Night is a dangerous time in these parts.” Her gaze racked over Harry’s form when the wizard took off his jacket and threw it over the raised hood of the car, revealing his muscled torso dressed in a form-fitting black t-shirt, and everyone but Scott and Kira looked at his right arm with wide eyes, having never seen the heavy scarring before.

“I’m not under the impression that it’s any safer during the day,” Harry drawled, either not seeing or pointedly ignoring the stunned gazes of his comrades as he slipped his gloves off of his hands and tucked them into the back pocket of his black jeans. “Go. You’re lingering.”

Braeden cleared her throat and looked at Scott, giving him a minute node before she made her way to her bike with Scott following close behind. She gave him the second helmet and the two mounted the _Triumph_ , raising dust as Braeden revved the engine, and Scott cast one last glance at those staying behind before they sped down the road.

Kira, Lydia and Stiles stood side by side, watching as Harry kneeled beside the tool-kit he and Stiles brought from the trunk, taking out an engine ignition analyzer before he stood up and took a deep breath. The three teens tensed up when he glanced at them and huffed before leaning over the open hood starting on checking the wires.

“Do you intend to stare at my arm all day?” he asked lightly and the teens jumped in their places with Kira wrapping her arms around her waist and looking around in embarrassment, Lydia clearing her throat and covering her lips with her left hand, right arm wrapped around her waist, and Stiles spun around in his place, wrinkling his face and squinting at nothing in particular as he dragged his hands through his hair.

“That - that looks like a nasty accident,” Stiles commented in a slightly strained voice and Harry snorted as he went from wire to wire, checking the electricity in each to see which one was damaged and why exactly the car wouldn’t start.

“It wasn’t an accident,” Harry corrected distractedly, frowning when he located the wire, and he placed the analyzer between his teeth as he leaned further under the hood. “I was tortured,” he spoke around the analyzer and the three teens froze up, gaping at Harry in amazement and horror.

“Tortured?” Lydia breathed out and Harry hummed, huffing as he moved back, plucked the analyzer from between his teeth before he kneeled and threw it in the tool-kit. “For what?” Harry glanced at her with a dark gaze, taking out a small flash-light before he straightened and sighed.

“Where to start,” he muttered and the three weren’t sure if he was talking about fixing the car or sharing his story with them. While all three of them wanted to find out what happened to Harry - what made him into the man he was - neither _really_ believed that he was obligated to share anything with them.

Alright, _Stiles_ was just about ready to start shooting questions left, right and center, but he was holding back in a weak attempt to give Harry some space and apologizing for the way he treated the wizard from the first moment they’d met.

“Well, I guess it all starts with a very, _very_ evil wizard who attempted to conquer the Wizarding World of Britain starting in the seventies, carrying firm beliefs that only those born out of pure-blood families - wizards and witches who had no connection or relation to magic-less humans - had the right to inhabit the Wizarding World, although I doubt he would have stopped there if his plans work - _fuck_ …” he hissed as he pulled his left hand back when he cut his finger on something, looking at the small cut before he wiped it on his trousers and went back to work, the three teens listening to him avidly.

“His first reign of terror lasted until 1980,” Harry continued the story, taking another tool out of the kit, and continuing with his fixing of the engine. “In 1979, a prophecy was made - in my opinion utterly self-fulfilling and ridiculous - which spoke of the birth of a child which would mark Voldemort’s downfall.”

“A prophecy?” Stiles piped out and Harry glanced at him.

“ _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,”_ Harry spoke in a dull voice, sounding somewhat bitter. _“Born to those who have thrice defied him. Born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives.”_ (1) Harry snorted and shook his head as he stopped repairing the engine, bracing his hands on the hood and taking a deep breath.

“Voldemort heard only half of the prophecy, but it was enough,” he spoke as he returned to the engine. “The son of a bitch desired immortality above anything else, and thus the fact that there would be born a child who could _vanquish_ him proposed a threat to him. Unfortunately, there were _two_ boys who fit the prophecy, and Voldemort in his arrogance chose the one most similar to him.”

“You?” Stiles asked and Harry glanced at him with a dry stare.

“Yeah,” Harry spoke before he cleared his throat. “In his quest for immortality, Voldemort learned a nasty little trick. He learned how to split his soul by taking the life of an innocent human, and store pieces of his soul into various objects.”

“Split his soul?” Lydia asked wide-eyed while Kira looked a little sick, and Stiles actually took a seat on the dusty road, staring at Harry in utter amazement, _‘I have never hurt an innocent’_ running through Stiles’ mind and unveiling one of many puzzle-pieces of Harry’s character.

“Anyway…” Harry grunted as he leaned over the engine, sneaking his right arm in a gap between the engine and the rest of the machinery, holding the flashlight in his left hand and wincing as he tried to reach something. “When I was fifteen months old, Voldemort finally grew some balls and came after me. Killed my dad before going after my mom who didn’t want to move out of his way. So he killed her, neglecting the little fact that she was an innocent. His soul split and that last part attached itself to _me_ , making me _the one to vanquish the Dark Lord_ , because it’s pretty damn difficult to destroy a Horcrux, especially a living one.”

“A Horcrux is a…” Stiles left it hanging in the air while Harry straightened, rotating his shoulders before he tried again.

“A container for the soul-piece,” he pressed out before straightening a giving up. “I’ll have to go around this differently,” he muttered into his chin, scratching the back of his neck with his right hand. Harry got down to his knees before he lied down on the ground on his back and crawled under the car. “Stiles, could you pass me the mirror?”

Stiles hurried to do as he was told, glancing at Kira and Lydia when both of them crouched on the ground, looking at Harry. “What happened then?” Stiles asked as he kneeled beside Harry, pulling the tool-kit closer so that he could pass the tools to Harry when he’d ask for them.

“Well!” Harry sounded a bit choked up, his voice coming out strained. “Voldemort tried to kill me, but the curse rebounded and hit him instead, leaving him as nothing more than a ghost. During the following years he tried to find a way to return to his body in different ways, and he succeeded in 1994 by using an ancient dark ritual needing the bones of his father, the blood of an enemy and the flesh of a servant!” Harry ducked out from under the car, blinking at the light of day. “Pass me the screw-driver,” he muttered to Stiles, placing the mirror by his thigh before moving under the car again. “Believe me he had _many_ willing servants who were all too eager to continue where they left of in 1980!”

“The army you mentioned,” Lydia spoke up, exchanging a glance with Kira and Stiles. “Werewolves, vampires, trolls…”

“Yep!” Harry confirmed with a wide grin, cursing and making the three teens wince at the pained grunt the wizard let go of. “Anyway, it all went on until 1997 when he was ultimately defeated in what’s known today as the Battle of Hogwarts.” He grunted as he crawled out from under the car and shook his head.

“I can’t see a damn thing like this,” he muttered as he wiped the sweat and dirt off of his face with his left forearm. “There seems to be something stuck in there, but I just can’t reach it, and using magic could overpower the electrical circuits and then we’d be stranded.”

The three teens exchanged wide eyes glances while Harry stood up and fisted his hinds on his sides, looking around squinting in the late-afternoon sun.

“What- what happened then?” Kira asked and Harry sighed, kneeling beside the tool-kit and looking up at the raised hood with a scowl of concentration.

“Well…” he murmured. “We all thought it was over. I joined the Auror Force after passing a few exams and getting my mastery. The Auror Force didn’t exactly work out for me since most of my colleagues either worshiped me as a hero or secretly hated me.” He scoffed and shook his head, rubbing his face with his right hand. “Wish I knew _that_ before,” he muttered, took a tool neither of the three teens knew what was for and went back to the car, leaning over the open hood as he tried to think of a way to get to whatever hit them without damaging the engine.

“So I decided to join the Unspeakables, in extension becoming an agent of MI6. I was knighted around that time because when I applied to the position the Queen of England was made aware of my _achievements_ and decided I would be a good knight or same such bullshit.”

Stiles, Kira and Lydia all but gaped when Harry actually climbed the car, pushing the hood off of the metal wire holding it up and holding it up as he crouched carefully over the engine, checking it out with a concentrated frown. “Stiles, flashlight.” The teen fumbled to get it while Harry offered his right hand to him, and Stiles placed the flashlight in it, the three watching as Harry crouched lower, squinting as he searched for the projectile that hit them.

“After almost two years working like that I’ve grown tired of some things happening in good ol’ Britain so I decided to skip town so to say. Took a map and a dart and ended up in Beacon Hills.”

“What?” Stiles squawked, staring at Harry in utter amazement, and Harry glanced at him with a cocked eyebrow. “You mean to tell me you’ve ended up in Beacon Hills on _pure accident_?”

“What?” Harry stated dully. “You thought I was brought here by some _divine providence_?” he scoffed and went back to the car while the other three exchanged shocked stares. “Sorry to disappoint you, Stiles, but no. I ended up in Beacon Hills by throwing a dart at the map of the world. Simple as - found you!” the three jumped when Harry suddenly bit out sharply, fastened the hood again and hopped off of the car, handing Stiles the flashlight without even paying attention if Stiles caught it or not, the teen fumbling with it before taking a firm hold of it and following Harry with a stunned stare.

“You guys know approximately what happened during my stay in Beacon Hills before I disappeared, right?” Harry glanced at them, receiving three hurried nods, and he sighed as he climbed the right side of the car, hunching under the hood, careful of the metal stick holding it up. “Well, I didn’t know about the shit-storm brewing in Ole England until the night I was taken from my bed.”

“Dad said that he was the last one who saw you that day,” Stiles blurted out and Harry glanced at him, stopping with whatever he was doing to frown at the teen. “He still blames himself for not seeing that something would happen.”

Harry snorted and shook his head, trying to find a good position for whatever he would do next. “That’s John for you…” he muttered. “And he wasn’t the last one who saw me that day. I met up with… with Peter.” Harry’s voice broke and he glanced at the other three before clearing his throat. “Maybe if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have been taken. The three guys who came for me used Peter as leverage to keep me from fighting. They placed a Containment Collar on me, knocked me unconscious so to say and shipped me off back to London.”

“Containment Collar?” Lydia choked out, remembering Braeden mention something about Harry getting rid of a collar when she came for them.

“It’s a collar made out of magical elements, infused with dark magic which suppresses the magic of the one wearing it, allowing them to use it only when specifically ordered to,” Harry spoke, hopping off of the car with a shrug and tucking his left hand inside a pocket as he rubbed his forehead with his right, attracting the teens’ attention to the heavy scaring again, and they noticed that Harry’s whole hand was covered in scars, his fingers jaded with them although the nails seemed to have grown out fine.

“I have worn that collar for nine years, forced to work for an organization that fought against the government of Wizarding Britain. They _enslaved me_ , because they were certain that I wouldn’t cooperate otherwise.” Harry swallowed audibly, tucking his right hand in a pocket and squinting towards the setting sun. “And they were right. I was sick and tired of fighting for people who I had nothing with. Every single friend I’ve had back there turned their backs on me when I became an Unspeakable, going against their little _ideas_ of an _ideal life_. This _Organization_ forced me into doing their dirty work, _lying_ to me that everything was fine and dandy in Beacon Hills and that they would set me free once their goal was achieved.”

Harry wetted his dry lips leaning back against the car and looking at the horizon, suddenly appearing weighed down by the world and tired beyond description. “I learned of what happened by running into an old _friend_ ,” he said and looked at the group of teens. “You might know him as Deucalion.”

“What?” Lydia and Stiles exclaimed in shock and Harry shook his head with a dark, weary chuckle.

“Our meeting was cut short because I was in the middle of a _mission_ , but he _did_ manage to tell me that the Hale Pack was no more. After that, when I returned to England, I - I guess I snapped.” He shrugged his shoulders and kicked away a few rocks with his right foot. “I don’t think anything remained from the base. To my knowledge they presume I was killed in the explosion. I don’t think enough remained from the bodies of those holding me captive to determine what limb belong to whom or how many people actually died from my magical backlash.”

The teens paled at the gruesome description, but they couldn’t help but feel vindicated on behalf of Harry. Even though the man gave them practically nothing distinctive, they were smart enough to come to their own conclusions about what he had to do.

“The Organization may have fought to liberate England and for equal rights in the beginning, but somewhere along the way they went _wrong_ ,” Harry said and shook his head, letting go of a dry laugh. “The goal justifies the means and all that _bullshit_.” He raised his right hand and slowly clenched it into a fist, neither of the three teens missing the wince wrinkling his face. “This is a souvenir from one of my first missions. I was taken by the opposing side because I was distracted during the planned assassination by a kid walking into the way of my curse making me redirect it, and I was found. Since I couldn’t use my magic for anything but performing the mission, I couldn’t fight them so they had their _merry way_ with me.”

Harry’s eyes slipped closed as his shoulders hunched and he leaned his head back, his hand flopping down to rest between his thighs. “Torture spells weren’t enough to make me talk, since I’ve grown a _resistance_ to them a while back,” he murmured, hardly parting his lips as he spoke, “so they tried something different. They dipped my hand in a potion made to slowly eat at your skin. Not burn it away,” he opened his eyes and looked at the darkening sky, “actually _eating_ at it. They didn’t want any _nerve_ damage to happen in case I stop feeling the pain.”

He chuckled and shook his head before he pushed away from the car and turned around, bracing his hands on the edge of the hood and looking at the machinery. “I managed to get away, and _believe me_ , that taught me to be more than extra careful from then on.”

Heavy silence settled between them as the sky started to darken, and the three teens looked at Harry when he climbed the hood again. “Now that that’s covered, we really need to get out of here,” he grunted as he slowly pushed his right hand in a gap between the engine and another machine while Stiles, Lydia and Kira exchanged glances of quiet communication.

“A-ha!” they looked at Harry and found him biting into his bottom lip, tugging on something in the machinery. “Mother. Fucking. Son of a-” the curse turned into a shocked shout when he pulled a bit harder, dislodging whatever was stuck inside the machinery and falling backwards, ending up on his back.

“Harry!” Stiles hurried to the wizard, falling to his knees to Harry’s left as the wizard groaned and slowly sat up while the girls kneeled to his right, looking in trepidation at the thing Harry pulled out of the car.

It looked like an old claw, almost as long as Harry’s forearm. Harry turned it in his hand, eyebrows narrowed as his eyes darkened, and he swallowed audibly before hurrying to stand up. “We need to hurry,” he murmured, attaching the claw-like thing to his belt before he walked over to the tool-kit, darkness settling over them as the sun slowly set beyond the horizon. “Stiles, I need you to hold the flashlight!”

“On it!” Stiles hurried over to Harry while the wizard started on the engine, and Lydia and Kira stood to his right, glancing at one another before looking at Harry and Stiles.

“What was that?” Lydia asked and Harry spared her a glance, concentrating on fixing the car.

“Something not even I want to face in the dark,” he murmured, separating the broken wire from the good ones and starting on fixing it. “I need a scalpel.” Kira hurried to find one, while Lydia spun in her place and looked around, crossing her arms over her chest when a cold shiver ran down her spine.

“Can you be any more specific?” Lydia’s voice turned higher a bit as her eyes widened, suddenly feeling as though someone was watching them.

“Berserkers,” Harry bit out, hissing when a spark of electricity passed up his arm. He took the scalpel offered to him by Kira, before he grabbed Stiles’ hand which was holding the flashlight and tugged, positioning it in the way that would suit him without even glancing towards Stiles who exchanged a glance with Lydia.

“I thought Berserkers don’t exist anymore,” Stiles said and Harry snorted, biting his bottom lip as he struggled to fix the wire.

“This would be so much easier if I could use magic,” Harry grumbled under his breath. Kira and Lydia looked around when a howl echoed through the night, and while Harry showed no reaction it seemed as though he worked ever faster.

He managed to fix the wire just as the last light of day disappeared. “Stiles, go and try to start the car.” Stiles nodded hurriedly, thrusting the flashlight in Kira’s hands as he ran around them, opened the door and got in, muttering prayers under his breath as he turned the key.

The engine revved a few times, but didn’t start, and Stiles tried a few times, huffing and blinking rapidly as another howl broke the strained silence.

“Stop!” Harry called out to the human teen, ducking under the hood again as he snatched the flashlight from Kira. “Damn it…” he muttered as he squinted in the darkness. The two girls looking around, trembling as they wrapped their arms around their waists, going in opposite directions as they listened, trying to hear if anyone was approaching.

“Stiles, try again!” Harry snapped, and Stiles fumbled for a second. “Fuck!” Harry cursed when they got a repeat of the earlier performance. “The accumulator must be empty. It’s the only explanation why it won’t start since we’re not leaking anything!” Harry snapped as he straightened, brushing his left hand through his hair and looking around.

“So we just need to jump start it right?” Stiles asked as he got out of the car, looking around, and crossing his arms over his chest.

“It would be _great_ if we could,” Harry grumbled as he fisted his hands on his waist and looked around, “but we need a battery, and while I have a lot of things in the trunk, I don’t have _that.”_ He finished, his voice dripping with sarcasm and irony, only for the wizard to look to the side when Kira cleared her throat.

“You need electricity, right?” she asked and Harry raised an eyebrow at her.

“Yep,” he answered dryly and Kira shifted her weight, arms tens as she tugged on the sleeves of her shirt, glancing around as a small smile full of anxiousness tilted her lips.

“Erm…” she raised her right hand abruptly and wiggled her fingers, “Ah… Um… I’m a Thunder Kitsune,” she finally blurted out and Harry’s eyebrows disappeared under his messy bangs.

“Really now?” he muttered in interest, eyeing the young kitsune intensely.

“That’s right!” Stiles smacked his right fist against his left hand before he hurried over to Kira, took her hand in his and pulled her over to the car while Lydia approached them backwards. “Harry, do you have jumper cables?” Stiles asked as he positioned Kira in front of the car and Harry dug through the tool-kit quickly, digging out the cables Stiles asked for.

Harry hesitated in giving the cables to Kira, glancing at his car before he huffed and offered her a small smile. “Just… Um… Just don’t fry it, okay?” he asked somewhat weakly and Kira nodded hurriedly, eyes wide, while Stiles grabbed the cables from Harry and did quick work of connecting them.

“Guys?” Lydia called out when another howl echoed through the night, and the banshee walked back into the car, jumping in her place and turning around.

“Lydia, what is it?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyebrows and hurrying over to the distraught girl.

“Something is coming,” Lydia whispered waveringly, and Harry looked around squinting into the darkness.

“Ready?” Stiles asked as he backed away from the car and Kira took a deep breath.

“Okay,” she whispered and took a deep breath, “here goes nothing!”

Unfortunately, Harry couldn’t pay attention to what Kira and Stiles were doing. A cold shiver ran down his spine, and the short hairs on the back of his neck stood up. An itch he couldn’t scratch appeared on the nape of his neck, spreading down his spine, and something heavy settled in his stomach.

“Lydia, get in the car and try to start it,” Harry spoke slowly, tone wavering as his concentration divided between the teens, the car and whatever was making his hackles rise, although he had a good idea what it was. Lydia’s breath hitched in her throat when a familiar feeling washed over her, and she looked at Harry with wide eyes.

“We did it!” Stiles called out, but his and Kira’s celebration was of short lasting.

“Get in the car, now!!” Harry snapped at them, and the teens hurried to obey. Lydia took the driver seat with Stiles and Kira jumping into the back. Harry slammed the hood closed, grabbing his jacket and tugging it on before he ran over to the driver’s side rounding the open door, pulling his gloves on as he leaned forward and looked at Lydia. “Start the car and go,” Harry spoke breathlessly, placing one hand on the roof and other on the door and looking straight in Lydia’s eyes. “Don’t wait for me-”

“But-”

“Find Scott and Derek,” Harry stressed out and Lydia’s eyes widened when something she had never felt before washed over her. They heard something heavy hit the ground outside and Harry’s eyes widened as he raised his head. “Go!” he slammed the door closed and ran around the car.

“Harry!” Stiles cried out, trying to open the door only to realize that he couldn’t. “What did he do?!” Stiles tried to open the door again, only to fail. He looked at Lydia with wide eyes full of horror when he heard the engine revving up, but the contact didn’t take hold.

“Lydia, don’t-”

“We have to get out of here,” Lydia interrupted Stiles. In the next moment, something flashed in front of them, and just as Lydia managed to start the car something landed on the hood.

“Harry!” Kira cried out, covering her lips with her hands as Harry slid down the hood, falling on the ground, and the lights revealed the assailant.

A huge man walked into the front lights covered in what appeared to be an armor of bones, face hidden behind a scull of some animal. They watched as Harry stood up, his back turned on them, and their eyes widened when a powerful roar echoed through the night.

They felt as though their breaths were kicked out of their chests when Harry crouched quickly and rushed forward, just as the demonic monster in front of him charged, moving faster than the teens thought he could because of his build.

“A Berserker…” Stiles whispered.

Without even thinking about it, with only one thing in mind, Lydia pushed the gas pedal and swiveled around Harry and the Berserker, just as the wizard managed to throw the monster to the side.

“Lydia, what are you doing?!”

“Harry told us to run!” Lydia screamed at Stiles who flinched back while Kira froze up. They took a sharp turn, Lydia’s knuckles white with the strength of her hold on the wheel, and tears were streaming down her cheeks as she gasped for air. “He told us to run…” she whispered brokenly, while Stiles just stared at her, falling against the backrest and glancing at Kira when she whimpered. “He told us to run…”

Stiles swallowed audibly, his eyes filling with tears. He turned to Kira, and in a moment’s decision pulled her into his arms, the kitsune burying her face in his chest as she cried. Stiles fisted his right hand on the back of Kira’s head, closing his eyes tightly shut as he clenched his teeth and buried his nose in her hair, breathing in deeply only to let the air out sharply through his mouth, tears finally rolling down his face.

**cut**

Harry skidded backwards away from the Berserker, looking up in time to see his car disappear behind a turn. He swallowed, clenched his teeth tightly and looked at the monster standing up and getting ready to attack.

“Now we can play,” Harry growled, and if anyone was there to see they would have frozen in their place with fear and horror. Harry’s eyes started to change shape and his bones started to shift, his face becoming rounder as he slowly crouched on all fours.

The Berserker halted in his step, going as far as taking a small step back, as black fur replaced leather, powerful paws grew in the place of hands and feet, and emerald eyes turned forest green, glowing with power and intent to kill.

Within moments, standing before the Berserker was not a man, but a beast, a beast so powerful and revered that its mere appearance ignited something within the Berserker. Silky fur, glimmering in the light of the stars covered a lean body sinewed with powerful muscles, as sharp canines bared, a threatening _purr_ echoing through the night.

A roar broke the stand still, apparently shaking the Berserker out of his stupor, and with a grunt it prepared to attack the powerful beast in front of him without any care at all for his life.

And just as the mighty animal pounced the Berserker ran forward, intent to kill…

… Or be killed.

**cut**

Lydia stopped the car in front of the only standing building in the village, and the three ran out of it, exchanging glances as they met up in front of the car before looking around.

“Where could they be?” Kira asked, wrapping her arms around her waist as she tried to think of a way to find Scott and Braeden.

Stiles huffed, eyes still puffy and red as he turned in his place, digging his hands into his hair and fisting them there as he tried to think, coming up with nothing.

“Stiles!” Lydia cried out and hurried forward when she caught sight of movement in the darkness of the church, but before they could move, they heard something like thunder shifting in the sky, and the three of them looked up in time to see a black _cloud_ rushing towards them.

It landed several feet away from them, and Harry emerged from it, half-crouching only to end up on his knees a moment later, bracing himself on his hands as he gasped for air.

“Harry!” Stiles cried out and rushed forward, falling to his knees in front of Harry and taking a hold of the wizard’s shoulders.

“I’m fine!” Harry gasped, grabbing Stiles’ forearms as he raised his head, making Stiles’ eyes widen at the sight of a still bleeding cut right above Harry’s left eyebrow and the darkening bruise on Harry’s right cheek. “I’m fine,” Harry reassured Stiles to the best of his abilities, offering him a small smile, and Stiles let go of a sharp gust of air, ducking his head before looking at Harry again, a smile of desperation tilting his lips as his eyes turned glassy with tears of relief.

“Did you kill it?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed out, slowly standing up with Stiles’ help, looking to his right when Lydia and Kira hurried over to them. “Are you kids alright?” he asked making Lydia let go of something between a huff and a whimper while Kira nodded avidly and Stiles rolled his eyes.

Harry was about to say something when a sight he never though he would see again caught his attention. The three tensed up when Harry gaped and slowly walked past Stiles, and the teens turned around, freezing up when they saw what had Harry in that state.

Braeden and Scott were moving towards them, dragging a weakened body between them. Before either of the three teens could react, Harry broke into a run, stopping right in front of the other three.

“What happened?” Scott asked, seeing Harry’s appearance, but Harry didn’t seem to hear him.

The wizard’s lips were parted and his eyes were wide, and everyone was shocked, even Braeden, when Harry fell to his knees, raising his hands to cup the face of the one Stiles, Lydia and Kira assumed was Derek.

“Oh Merlin…” Harry whispered, and the three that were with him froze up when the head of the weakened person was raised and they saw the face of a seventeen year old, familiar green eyes widening slightly when they met Harry’s glassy emerald orbs. “Oh, god, Derek, what did she do to you…” Harry murmured, caressing pale cheeks as lake green eyes stared at him in hope and confusion.

“That - that’s not Derek,” Kira stuttered out. She and Lydia looked at Stiles when he shifted in his place, pushing trembling fists into the pockets of his jacket and shifting his weight.

“It is,” Stiles spoke in a broken, hoarse voice before he took a deep breath, looking heavenwards before he swallowed and looked at Harry again, seeing Braeden and Scott lower Derek to his knees before he fell into Harry’s embrace, wrapping trembling arms around Harry’s waist while Harry hugged him tightly, combing his left hand through Derek’s hair. “Sort of.”

Braeden and Scott came to stand beside Stiles the whole group watching as this young version of Derek moved back and looked at Harry with desperation in every line of his young face. “Harry, what happened?” he whispered brokenly while Harry raised his hands and cupped Derek’s face within them, wiping away the tears streaming down the werewolf’s cheeks lovingly with his thumbs. “Where - where am I? Where did you go? Peter was _devastated_! Mom had to…”

“Shhhhh…” Harry hushed Derek gently, leaning forward to kiss his forehead, the wizard lingering as Derek fisted his hands on Harry’s waist. “It’s okay. Everything will be alright,” Harry whispered against Derek’s forehead. “I’ll fix everything, I swear.”

The group behind Derek and Harry exchanged confused glances, their eyes widening when Harry muttered a word they couldn’t understand and Derek slumped against him in a dead faint.

Harry swallowed heavily, moving back a bit before he shifted and gathered Derek into his arms, the werewolf’s head coming to rest on Harry’s right shoulder.

Harry turned around to face the confused group of people and slowly walked towards them, stopping in front of Braeden and looking at her with a dull stare. “I’ll ad another ten thousand to our current arrangement if you’ll ride with us to Beacon Hills. We don’t have enough room in the car for one more,” he spoke in a strained voice.

Braeden huffed and shook her head, licking her lips as she looked back at Harry. “I’ll do this pro bono,” she muttered and turned her back on Harry whose lips tilted up into a small smile. “Let’s go.” She walked back to her bike while Harry turned to the teens.

“Scott, would you mind riding with…”

“No problem,” Scott cut Harry off and the wizard nodded, while the other three teens stared at the sleeping werewolf in Harry’s arms.

Stiles seemed utterly broken, if Harry had read him right. The human’s eyes were dull and his lips were lax. For once Stiles was completely still, staring at Derek sleeping within Harry’s tender hold.  

“Let’s go,” Lydia whispered. “I’ll drive.” Harry nodded at her gratefully and they moved towards the car, but not before Scott clapped Harry’s back and left to join Braeden on her bike.

Harry settled Derek carefully on the back seat with Stiles’ help, and the wizard took his jacket off, draping it over Derek for additional warmth before taking a seat behind the sleeping werewolf and cradling him in his arms. Stiles placed Derek’s legs in his lap, his trembling hands resting on Derek’s calves, and when Kira took the front passenger seat, Lydia started the engine and they made their way back for Beacon Hills, Braeden and Scott following close behind.

“What happened to him?” Stiles asked in a quiet, strained voice and looked at Harry who sighed and hit his head back against the headrest.

“I don’t know,” he murmured, noticing that Kira turned around in her seat and that Lydia glanced at them through the rear-view mirror. “I can only take a wild guess and say that Kate must have somehow used the power of the temple to de-age Derek. It’s not impossible; there are potions that can do that in the Wizarding World.” Harry raised one hand to brush a few strands of Derek’s sweat-mated hair away from the forehead wrinkled in torment, a small, tender smile tilting the wizard’s lips.

“The nasty consequence of those potions is that all memories are locked away into the back of your mind during the time the potion is active. Once the effects of the potion stop, though, all the memories are slammed back into the forefront of your mind, and if you’ve went far enough, de-aging yourself to a very young age, those memories can drive you insane since your brain isn’t ready for them.”

Harry swallowed and wet his lips, tightening his hold on Derek as his gaze grew distant and lips thinned in a pained line. “Memories are created systematically and stored into our brain the same way. It’s like overloading a computer with too much information at a single moment. It’s bound to freeze up in the best case.”

Stiles swallowed difficultly and looked away from Harry, blinking away the tears which threatened to fall. “Do you… do you think it’s permanent?” he asked, voice hoarse and breaking, and Harry shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said and looked at Stiles, his eyes shining with determination. “But I won’t allow anything to happen to Derek, Stiles.” The human looked at him, lips parting as Stiles realized that Harry was dead serious. “I won’t allow anything to happen to him. I swear.”

**cut**

(1) Belongs to J. K. Rowling

**cut**

**Hope you liked it!!**

**Poor, Derek! What did that evil bitch do to him?!**

**Maybe we’ll find out in the next chapter, so stick around for ‘Memories’.**

 


	6. Memories

**So!!**

**Everyone, thank you for being fabulous readers and leaving encouraging comments and reviews!! As a belated birthday present to myself, I'm posting this chapter!! I really do hope you'll like it, and thanks to Velena Velaryon for giving me a proverbial slap on the fingers and making me fix the following few chapters up to make them more understandable. I seemed to have forgotten that not all of you have seen the fourth season, te-hee...**

**Anyway!! Enjoy!! And the next chapter comes as soon as possible!!**

**cut**

Silence reigned over the group of teens sitting in the living room of Scott's home. Harry was in Scott's room tending to Derek with Melissa. To say the woman was surprised when all of them appeared on her front porch, looking as though they had just come back from a battlefield when they were supposed to be on a camping trip would be an understatement of the year.

Never the less, one look at Harry - which served more as a surprise to the gathered teens plus Braeden when it turned out that Melissa recognized him - had Melissa snapping out of her shocked state and rushing them all inside, directing Harry to Scott’s bedroom while the others piled up in the living room. Thankfully Scott’s dad was no where to be found, and Scott sincerely hoped they would know at least _something_ about Derek’s condition before Agent McCall came back.

After finally settling down in the living room, Kira, Lydia and Stiles started filling in Scott on everything they found out from Harry about his past with Braeden sitting to the side and listening with only half an ear, something the teens didn’t pay attention to since they were all still under hard impression of Harry actually destroying a Berserker on his own and everything he told them.

Scott appeared unable to say a word as he stared at his friends respectively each time one of them would take over for the other. “I mean, Scott, you’ve seen his arm,” Stiles blurted out, shifting in his chair a bit as he flailed his hands, with an expression of pure shock and amazement on his handsome face, eyes wide as he related to Scott his amazement. “The guy was _tortured_ , and by the looks of it, that was neither the first nor the last time.”

“And he figured out it was a Berserker by just seeing what hit us!” Kira spoke breathlessly, looking just as excited - almost _overwhelmed_ \- as Stiles did.

“Of course he did,” the teens tensed up when Braeden voiced her thoughts and everyone turned to look at her, finding the gun for hire leaning back against a wall by the window, looking out on the street with a glass of Jack cradled in her right hand. “Potter’s one of the few people in the world who can take on a Berserker by himself and live to tell about it.”

“That’s right,” Lydia suddenly said as though she had just then realized something. “You _know_ Harry. You’ve met him before.”

Braeden snorted and looked at Lydia with a dull stare and a cocked eyebrow. “Yeah, I know him,” she muttered, pushing away from the wall and strutting over to an armchair, all but throwing herself in it, crossing her legs and smirking at the teens, although if one took a careful look in her eyes, they would see that she wasn’t feeling half as comfortable or as confident as she appeared to be. “Met him once a few years back while I was doing a job for a client in good ol’ England,” she spoke carelessly, bracing her weight on her left elbow.

“How was he then?” Scott asked, shifting forward in his seat and clasping his hands between his thighs.

Braeden looked to the side, trying to find the right words, even though she honestly doubted there was a _right_ way to speak about a man such as Harry James Potter. She looked at the teens again, finding them staring at her in expectation, practically all ears, and she huffed and shook her head, lips tilting up in amusement although none of it reached her eyes.

“Do you know what _El Sabueso_ means?” she asked, tilting her head back and shifting her shoulders a bit.

“The Hound,” Scott answered immediately and Braeden nodded.

“That’s what Araya called Harry,” Stiles recalled, the other three teens nodding in agreement and Braeden snorted.

“Potter is called _the Hound_ because he might as well _be_ one. Once he catches a trail of something, he won’t stop. He’ll turn the world over. He won’t sleep, he won’t eat and he won’t rest until he finds the one he’s looking for. Araya Calavera once told me that if Potter chose to become a hunter, and if he were to ignore the Code, there would be no werewolves for others to hunt within ten years.”

Braeden leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees and looking at the teens with an almost challenging stare. “Your _Harry_ is a ruthless killer; _unstoppable_ once he decides to end someone.” The teens paled and tensed up their eyes widening in horror. In the next moment, Braeden smirked and sat back again, glancing to the side before she finished her drink, left the glass balancing on the armrest and crossed her arms over her chest, looking at the teens with a cocked eyebrow and an unreadable stare.

“He is also a man who won’t hesitate to risk his life to save someone he deems worthy of saving,” Braeden continued in a suddenly tight voice, pursing her lips for a second before she shifted her jaw. “He’ll put his life on the line to protect an innocent uncaring of their age, gender, sexuality or race. He’ll suffer if it means someone he deemed worthy of his attention will be alright, and he won’t pay any heed to what will happen to him.”

The teens exchanged a glance, recognizing a few things they had realized on their own about the wizard. Alright, _nothing_ Braeden had said so far has been a surprise to them. They may not have thought of Harry that way, but they weren’t stupid. Harry for all the things he did for them in the past three days, also showed that that he was in no way lenient, weak or merciful when it comes to getting the job done.

In the end one had to ask themselves just what turned Harry into what he is today? A man who didn’t hesitate to kill even though he would never hurt an innocent had to have had something _extremely_ bad happen to him, right? A man who could just as easy wrap his hands around someone’s neck to snap it as he could hold a child lovingly and reassuringly, had to have had something create this dual personality of his.

It would be perfectly easy to accept what Harry had told them without asking for more details. They didn’t necessarily _have_ to know everything about him. But in their hearts Scott and his friends wanted to _help_ Harry, and they won’t know how to help him if they don’t find out what exactly turned him into the man he is today.

“Give up on that thought.” Everyone looked at Braeden when she spoke up and they frowned at her making her shake her head with a small smile. “You want to _help_ him. It’s written all over your faces.” The teens ducked their heads, each one of them blushing at the fact the Braeden could read them so easily.

“We just want to…”

“Fix him?” Braeden interrupted, something akin to cold anger in her tone, and Scott narrowed his eyes when she shook her head, lips parted in question. “You can’t _fix_ a man like Harry James Potter. The only way to _fix_ him is to erase everything he had lived through, to erase his memories, his experiences, the scars on his body and his soul.” She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees and entwining her fingers together.

“You don’t _fix_ a man like Harry James Potter,” she spoke harshly, accenting every word. “You either _trust_ him or you don’t, but either way you get out of his damn way.” With that Braeden stood up and fixed her jacket, throwing a few dark brown locks over a shoulder. “Tell Potter that I expect my payment latest by Saturday.” She turned on her heel and walked out of the living room, slamming the front door closed on her way out.

Heavy silence settled in the room as the teens sunk into their thoughts. Stiles fell back against the backrest of his armchair, crossing his arms over his chest and ducking his head, sucking on his teeth as his gaze focused on a smudge on the floor, right leg hopping minutely. Kira clasped her hands between her thighs, leaning back against the backrest with her shoulders hunched and head bowed, eyes suspiciously glassy. Lydia sat beside Kira, back straight, legs crossed, hands entwined on her knee and head tilted to the side, gaze distant as though she was listening to something only she could hear, her gaze dull and unfocused, shallow breaths passing her lips.

Scott sat in the kitchen chair, shoulders hunched and head bowed so no one could see the scowl of determined focus on his face. Braeden’s words kept rolling through his mind over and over and over again, igniting that _something_ within him that made it possible for him to become an alpha without having to steal that power from anyone.

Yes, Braeden may have been right when she said that they couldn’t _fix_ Harry, but it wasn’t like they just couldn’t do anything, right? She said to just get out of Harry’s way whether they trust him or not, but Scott couldn’t agree with that. He couldn’t agree with that, because even though they had known Harry for no more than four days, Harry had already done a lot for them without actually risking their lives. As far as Scott understood, Harry had already _deemed them worthy of his attention_ , as Braeden so ardently put it.

Turning his back of Harry would make Scott feel as though he was betraying the trust the older man put in the young alpha and his friends, and that was something Scott didn’t want.

Get out of Harry’s way? Sure, but Scott would make sure that he would follow Harry’s every step. Harry left England and came to Beacon Hills to find peace, and Scott would do everything in his power to help Harry find it. He may not be able to _fix_ Harry, but he would make damn sure the wizard would never have to fight alone again.

And by the expressions on the faces of his friends, Scott knew that he was not alone in that decision.

**cut**

Melissa sat in the armchair on the right side of the bed, brown eyes full of questions and confusion staring at Harry who sat to Derek’s right, holding the sleeping werewolf’s hand between his slightly bigger ones, shadowed emerald eyes staring at the teen’s sleeping face full of so many things Melissa couldn’t even _hope_ to name them all.

The moment Melissa had seen Harry, her heartbeat stuttered and she lost her breath, because - while John _had_ called her and ranted to her about Harry coming back out of the blue - she still found it hard to believe. And yet there Harry was, sitting in front of her, and she was absolutely _certain_ that he couldn’t be a more different man if he had _tried_ to change.

Melissa had spent time with Harry many times back when he first came to live in Beacon Hills, coming to dinner to the Stilinski house on many occasions. She was the one who delivered the news of Claudia’s illness to John, Stiles and Harry, and she had seen Harry’s eyes darken with pain as he cradled Stiles in his arms, trying to shield the child from those devastating news with a loving embrace, even though the look in Harry’s eyes - the darkness of painful memories no one knew nothing about - told her that he knew it was impossible.

She was one of the first people John had called when Harry didn’t show up for work for two days. She was the one who sat with Claudia while Stiles and Scott played together, clueless about the disappearance of the young man that appeared in their lives suddenly and without a warning only to vanish in much the same way. Melissa was the one who had seen Claudia, already succumbing to her illness cradling Stiles in her arms when they realized that Harry wouldn’t be coming back. She may not have known Harry as well as the Stilinski family did, but it didn’t mean she didn’t care about him. It broke her heart when he disappeared without a word.

Now, there they were, sitting across from one another, and having heard the shortened story of what had happened in the past four days, Melissa couldn’t find it in her heart to rage and rave at Harry for putting her son in danger, knowing very well that if Harry hadn’t been there, Scott and his friends would have left on their own. Having been told that Harry is a wizard made at least some of her worries disappear, because she knew enough about Harry’s time as Deputy of the Beacon Hills Police Office to know that Harry would sooner cut his own hand off than allow anyone in his proximity to get hurt.

Never the less she had so many questions that she didn’t know where to start. She didn’t know whether to ask what happened on the night Harry disappeared or to ask what brought him back. She had no idea what to ask first or to bother asking any questions at all. But looking at Harry now, seeing the way his shoulders hunched as he observed the sleeping teen Melissa _still_ had trouble believing was a de-aged Derek Hale, she found herself at a lack of what to do entirely.

“It’s good to see you again, Mel,” Harry murmured, raising his head and turning those amazing emerald orbs towards her, gifting her with a smile that in no way reached his eyes.

“It’s good to see you too, Harry,” she answered, offering a small upturn of her lips as Harry took a deep breath and looked at the sleeping werewolf again. Melissa sighed and leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her parted knees before she clasped her hands together, looking at Harry with a searching stare. “In all honesty,” she shook her head, eyebrows raising and furrowing as a smile dangerously close to hysteria tilted her lips, “I have _no idea_ whatsoever to say to you.”

Harry chuckled quietly, bowing his head and closing his eyes. “If you want to shout at me for disappearing and coming back so suddenly, could we _please_ leave it for later? John already did that well enough, and I really don’t have the energy or the will to explain everything right now.”

“Then how about you tell me why you didn’t find it important to make the kids tell us where they were going?” Melissa asked and Harry looked at her with a dull stare.

“They found out that Derek was missing and ran into me when I went to talk with Alan. They were determined to go immediately, and even though it may have been better to inform you and John of where they were going, the best I could get from them was to let me go with them. In a way, I agree with what Stiles said. John would have wanted to do everything according to the book and we would have lost precious time. We were already late as it is.” He looked at Derek again pointedly and Melissa found herself lacking the words to say again.

She took a deep breath as she stood up and clapped her hands before she placed them on her waist and turned around to look at the back of Harry’s back. Words died on her tongue when Harry raised his left hand and brushed a few dark strands away from Derek’s forehead, the sleeping werewolf letting go of a content sigh when Harry caressed Derek’s cheek with the back of his fingers.

“A lot of things happened after you went missing, Harry,” she finally said and Harry snorted, shaking his head.

“I know,” he muttered. “Stiles told me everything.” He swallowed before he turned his head to the right to look at her over his shoulder. “What I _don’t_ know yet, is what happened to Peter between the time of my _disappearance_ and the fire that killed most of the Hales.”

Melissa paled at the mention of Peter Hale and wrapped her arms around her waist, shifting her weight as she swallowed and cleared her throat. “And right now I’m scared,” Harry’s wheezing voice made Melissa raise her head with a stunned expression. “I’m afraid to wake up Derek and find out what happened, because what I’ve heard until now about Peter…” Harry’s voice turned brittle and he choked up, ducking his head as he rubbed his face with his left hand, letting go of a heavy breath as his shoulders hunched further.

Melissa moved forward, rounded Harry and kneeled on the floor to his right, placing her hands on his scarred right forearm and looking up at him with a wide-eyed, sad, compassionate expression.

“Harry, Peter is _not_ the man you dated before,” Melissa spoke in a firm whisper. “I know, because while I didn’t know who you dated, the way you spoke of him painted a picture of a handsome young man with a heart of gold and a mischievous streak rivaling the one you - you _used_ to have.” She licked her lips and tightened her hold on Harry’s forearm making him look at her, and his glassy eyes, full of tears he was trying to hold back made her feel as though a hand of steel squeezed her heart.

“But the only way to find out what changed him is to wake Derek up,” she spoke and Harry squeezed his eyes tightly shut, taking in a wavering breath and covering Melissa’s right hand with his left. “You’ll never find out otherwise and it will _kill_ you inside. Everything else will come with time. For now you have to take that first step.”

Harry nodded, breathing out and sniffing as he looked at Derek. “Would you - would you leave Derek and me alone?” he asked and Melissa’s eyebrows narrowed, lips parting as alarms sounded in her head. “And please make sure no one disturbs us. After I talk with Derek I’ll try to bring his memories back slowly so that they don’t overwhelm him once the effects of whatever Kate did to him stop.”

“Are you sure you’ll be alright on your own?” Melissa asked and Harry took a deep breath straightening and squaring his shoulders.

“It will be easier on the both of us,” Harry answered and Melissa nodded her head, although she still looked doubtful.

“Alright,” she murmured and stood up, placing her right hand on Harry’s right shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “We’ll be in the living room. Shout if you need help.” With that Melissa left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar, and Harry took a deep breath through his nose, trying to steel himself for what will happen, only to find out that he was unable to suppress the anxiety filling his thoughts and quickening his heartbeat.

With a trembling left hand Harry covered Derek’s eyes, his own slipping closed as he muttered a single world under his breath, the werewolf twitching and breathing in deeply as Harry placed his hand on Derek’s chest, witnessing the opening of lake-green eyes, a small smile tugging on his lips as hope and happiness filled those beautiful orbs.

“Harry?” Derek breathed out in a hopeful voice, groggily coming back to himself with impressive speed and reaching out quickly. “It’s really you!”

“Shhhhh,” Harry comforted lovingly, pressing down on Derek’s chest when the werewolf tried to sit up. “You’re weak and disoriented. Don’t sit up just yet,” he murmured gifting Derek with a strained smile as the werewolf stared at him in confusion, gaze darting around the room and eyebrows narrowing in confusion at the strange, unfamiliar scents.

“You’re at a friend’s place since I don’t have an apartment here anymore,” Harry said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice and Derek looked at him, eyebrows still narrowed although he relaxed against the pillow again. “You’re safe, Derek. I promise,” the wizard said, doing his best to keep his voice calm, knowing that even though his heart was beating faster than normal, Derek would still recognize a lie.

“Harry, what happened to you?” the confused teen whispered in question, frowning heavily now in growing anxiousness; taking in the sight of the older man, so much _different_ to the one he remembered. “It’s been _months_! You - you just disappeared!” Derek whispered in a hurried broken tone, eyes filling with tears as he grabbed a hold of Harry’s left hand. Harry’s other hand returned the strong grip with his own, leaning forward to lend comfort in proximity.

“Even your _scent_ is different,” Derek whined out weakly, eyes darting over Harry’s form and settling on his right arm. “Harry…”

“I’m sorry, Derek,” Harry choked out, shaking his head, hands fisting in his lap when Derek pulled back, staring at the wizard in shock. “So many things happened…”

“But Harry, it’s only been a few _months_!!” Derek cried out, his breathing growing shallower, eyes widening when Harry’s eyes shadowed and skin grew pale.

“To you it may have been a few months, Derek,” Harry answered in a throaty voice, knuckles going white as he clenched his fists tighter, every muscle in his body coiling as he forced down a swallow. “It’s been - it’s been much longer for me.”

“Harry…” Derek sat up slowly, covering Harry’s hands with his own, looking into those beautiful eyes he hadn’t seen in a while. “Harry, what happened to you?” his gaze racked over Harry’s form for god knows which time since he woke up, his brain _still_ trying to connect this man with the image of him the werewolf had in his mind.

Nothing fit! Yes, the eyes were the same if not for the fresh cut above Harry’s left eyebrow, and the fresh bruise on his left cheek, darkening otherwise pale skin. His hair was that same mess Derek still remembered; a mess Peter _loved_ to run his hands through on any opportunity he could…

 _‘Oh God, Peter!’_ Derek’s eyes widened and his breath hitched in his throat, and Harry leaned closer, his heartbeat picking up speed.  

“Derek, what is? What’s wrong?”

“Peter…” Derek breathed, the name wavering on his lips before falling flat in the quiet between them. “The night you disappeared… Harry’s it’s been _awful_!” The de-aged werewolf hunched his shoulders, pulling in on himself as his eyes turned glossy. Harry’s lips parted and he unconsciously held his breath waiting for Derek to speak, and yet something in him wanted to stop the werewolf not wanting to find out what his moment of weakness did to the werewolf family.

“We heard Peter’s howl before dawn broke…” Derek whispered brokenly, hands fisting in the sleeves of his t-shirt as a shiver wrecked his body. “Most of us were asleep, but we heard it. Mom, dad, Laura and I ran out immediately to track him. It took almost the whole day to find him and when we _did_ he… he was a _mess_.”

Derek raised his head and looked at Harry, finding the wizard staring at something over Derek’s right shoulder with an unfocused, dull stare. “It took all of us to subdue him and bring him back to the house. He kept mumbling how you were taken, how he couldn’t trace your scent further than your apartment. His _wolf_ it - it went _insane_. He kept _howling_ for his mate.”

Harry pressed his teeth tightly together, lips thinned in a pained line, and he closed his eyes, ducking his head a bit as his breathing grew quicker and his heartbeat went insane.

“Harry…”

“What...” Harry choked up, forcing himself to open his eyes and looked at Derek whose hands hovered centimeters away from Harry as though he wanted to take a hold of him and yet was afraid that if he did it would all turn out to be just a dream. “What happened then?” Harry pressed out weakly, voice brittle and throaty, and Derek’s hands fell into his lap as he shook his head.

“It went on like that for a week,” he murmured in a whisper. “We tried _everything_ to calm Peter down and mom called in every single contact she has around the world asking everyone to look for you, but no one heard anything about you. It was like you vanished from the face of the world.”

 _‘Of course they didn’t,’_ Harry thought, letting go of a wheezing gasp before forcing a deep intake of breath. Everything that ever made him and his name was practically erased, his possessions frozen and signed to a different name. Even if someone had access to top secret files they wouldn’t know where to look for him.

“Peter was going insane,” Derek’s voice broke as tears filled his eyes. “In the end mom had to - she had to lock the memories of you away.”

“Oh Merlin…” Harry breathed out, covering quivering lips with his right hand as tears he tried so hard to suppress trailed down his cheeks.

“Hey!” Not knowing what else to do and acting on pure instinct Derek moved forward and wrapped his arms around Harry, his heartbeat stuttering when Harry quickly returned the hug, holding on for dear life, the werewolf trembling when the wizard buried his nose in Derek’s neck, tears dropping on warm skin.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry whispered, hands fisting in the shirt on Derek’s back as he pulled him closer. “I’m so sorry, Derek…”

The werewolf was completely frozen. This wasn’t the Harry he remembered. This broken shadow of a man was not the strong, powerful, cheerful, mischievous man Derek came to love like a brother. Harry’s scent was tainted by so many things - so much _blood_ \- that it made Derek’s wolf uncomfortable, but under all of it, under the different scent, the new scar, the weariness which seemed to _radiate_ from Harry, under the wary stare and overzealous awareness of every single _whisper_ of movement around them, this was still _Harry_ , and that was possibly the _only_ reason why Derek had yet to run away.

He had no idea what happened to Harry to change him so. He had no idea what Harry had to live through to become this mess of bottled emotions and fear and insecurities, but this was Harry. This was the man that clicked with Derek the first time Peter brought Harry for lunch and they talked about sports and fantasy books; the man that didn’t make fun of Derek’s bigger front teeth but called them absolutely _adorable_ and who cursed Laura and Cora with a tickling charm for 6 hours straight when they teased Derek for being in love with… with _Paige_.

Harry must have felt the shift in Derek because he moved back, air held in his chest, and he quickly cupped Derek’s cheeks making that beautiful gaze meet Harry’s soulful eyes. “Derek what is it?” he whispered, voice laced with frightful worry, glance darting all over Derek’s face. “What happened?”

“Harry, I…” Derek’s lips opened and closed several times, eyes filling with tears. “I did something horrible,” he choked out and Harry’s eyebrows narrowed in worry.

“Derek, what happened?” Harry made Derek look into his eyes, Derek wetting his lips as his heartbeat quickened.

“You - do you remember how - how Peter told me that the only way to make sure Paige would be with me is - is to tell her the truth?” Harry’s eyebrows narrowed as he tried to remember, but it was such a long time for him that he couldn’t recall. “You two got into a fight about it, and you told Peter that there was no way or us to know if Paige was my mate before both of use turned eighteen,” Derek whispered and Harry’s eyes widened minutely as a memory flashed through his mind.

It was one of the few arguments he had with Peter, and while he understood _why_ Peter said that to Derek, he was against bringing an innocent girl into the world of the supernatural if it would in the end turn out that she wasn’t Derek’s mate.

“What happened?” Harry murmured, trying to calm his heart and breathing.

“Peter changed,” Derek pressed out and Harry caressed the werewolf’s cheeks with his thumbs in quiet encouragement. “Even though he no longer remembered you, he changed. His _wolf_ changed. We came back to that conversation, and Peter - he managed to convince me that I should change Paige - that it would be the only way for us to be together.”

“Merlin…” Harry whispered as his eyes widened in understanding before Derek even told him to whole story. As Harry’s hands fell from Derek’s face, hovering in the air between them, the werewolf ducked his head.

“There was an alpha in town who lost his beta to Gerard Argent,” Derek spoke in a broken, quiet voice. “I - I fixed it up so that Paige was in his way. I regretted it immediately, but I was too late. He already gave her the bite, and…” Derek raised his head and looked at Harry, tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked at the wizard with a pleading gaze, _begging_ him to understand; to forgive. “She rejected the bite.” Derek whispered, his eyes turning blue. “And I killed her to - to save her from the pain, and - and my eyes…”

“Shhhhh…” Harry hushed the werewolf, cupping pale cheeks within a gentle hold and wiping the tears away with his thumbs, leaning forward and pressing a lingering kiss to Derek’s forehead, his heart aching for the young man.

Derek had made a horrible mistake and paid for it with a part of his soul. Harry couldn’t judge him. He couldn’t. Not when he had done things that would make the strongest men - the coldest of hearts fill with shame and hatred.  

“They are different,” Harry whispered as he moved back and looked in Derek’s still electric-blue eyes, swiping his thumbs gently right over Derek’s bottom lids to wipe the tears away. “But still beautiful.”

A small smile tilted Derek’s lips, the bottom one quivering as he breathed out in relief. “Mom said that too,” he choked out and Harry gifted him with a loving smile, pulling the werewolf into his arms and feeling Derek shiver as he tucked his nose right under Harry’s left ear, breathing in his scent before he nuzzled his cheek against Harry’s neck.

Harry’s heart clenched and he sucked on his teeth before breathing out slowly, brushing his right hand through Derek’s hair as he opened his eyes and looked heavenwards, in his heart cursing whatever higher power - be it Destiny, or God, or whoever - for making Derek live through all of that.

“I’m so sorry, Derek,” he whispered and Derek moved back to look at him, frowning almost cutely when Harry caressed the werewolf’s cheek with the back of his right hand, the rough skin of Harry’s fingers scrapping against Derek’s soft skin. “I’m so sorry, baby…” Harry shook his head, unable to stop the tears from falling as he stared at the young face in front of him.

In his mind he knew that Derek had grown up in the past ten years; that this could in no way be how he looked now, but seeing him like this, seeing those beautiful eyes looking at him broke Harry’s heart, because the _real_ Derek knew what happened to his family. The _real_ Derek would have possibly reacted differently to finding out that Harry was alive. He might have even tried to hurt Harry, or he wouldn’t even want to talk to him.

This beautiful boy in front of Harry still had some hope in his heart despite everything that happened to him. He still looked forward to life. And the fact that Harry would have to destroy all those hopes all over again, the fact that _he_ would be the one to unlock Derek’s memories of losing his family, of being _hurt_ and _broken_ all over again, tore what remained of Harry’s wounded hart in peaces.

“Harry, what is going on?” Derek asked weakly after several long minutes of silence, his hands falling to Harry’s waist and fisting loosely in the tight shirt. “What happened to you? Why do you… you’re _different_.”

Harry forced down a swallow, failing to grant Derek even the smallest of smiles as his lips quivered and he had to remind himself to breathe. “Derek, I…” Harry choked up, unable to press the words past his closed up throat.

He needed to bring Derek’s memories back. He needed to make Derek remember everything so that they could find out what Kate wanted with him. The only way to figure out what she did to Derek was to give the werewolf the memories of Kate back.

But the risk was big. Harry would have to enter Derek’s mind and locate the memories that were locked away by whatever Kate did to him, and the wizard would have to arrange them systematically, placing them in the correct order slowly as to lower the possibility of Derek being overwhelmed by memories and loosing his mind.

And while Harry _was_ a master of the Mind Arts, it was not something he looked forward to doing. Not only would Derek’s mind be completely under his mercy, but Harry’s own mind would be open to Derek, and he didn’t want the werewolf to see everything Harry had to do while he was under control of the Organization.

By melding their minds so that Harry could arrange Derek’s memories and bring them back, there would be no room for Harry to conceal his own memories besides making sure that they don’t merge with Derek’s own.  

“Harry?” Derek murmured the wizard’s name, worry and confusion lacing his voice, and Harry looked into those again lake-green eyes, licking his lips and forcing down a swallow.

“Derek, do you trust me?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice from wavering.

Derek’s eyebrows wrinkled in confusion and his eyes darkened with questions, but he hurriedly nodded his head as Harry caressed those soft cheeks with his thumbs, and Harry’s tightly pressed lips tilted up into a small, pain-filled smile.

“I do, Harry,” Derek murmured. “Why do you even ask that?”

Harry took a deep breath and shifted in his seat a bit, hands slipping to rest on Derek’s strong arms, fingers wrapping loosely just above his elbows.

“Something bad happened to you,” Harry spoke, choosing his words carefully, “and your memories were locked in your mind,” Harry managed to stutter out, his shoulders rising tensely with the deep breath he took before slowly letting it go, “but I can bring them back.”

“I lost some of my memories?” Derek murmured and Harry nodded, rubbing Derek’s arms comfortingly.

“I know it sounds strange because you don’t remember what happened, but that’s why I’m asking you to trust me, Derek.” Harry looked into Derek’s eyes with a pointed stare. “To bring your memories back, I need to enter your mind and find them, and then I need to arrange them in proper order, giving them back to you steadily as not to overwhelm you, overload your mind.” Derek nodded in understanding, although he really _didn’t_ understand what Harry meant with that.

“But I need you to promise me something,” Harry spoke seriously and Derek’s eyebrows narrowed at the serious tone of Harry’s voice, laced with worry and honest pleading. “I need you to promise that you will not try to see my memories. My mind will be open to you and it will be really difficult for you to resist the urge to see what happened to me. I _promise_ to tell you _everything_ when we get your memories back, but _please_ , for your own good, _don’t go there_ , okay?”

Derek nodded hurriedly, shifting in his place as he fisted his hands in the shirt on Harry’s waist. “I won’t,” he said. “I promise,” he added, remembering Harry once telling him that delving into the mind of someone who was in a war, who fought and struggled, who was tortured and suffered horrible loss could bring even the best and strongest Masters of the Mind Arts to insanity.  “I trust you, Harry,” Derek whispered and Harry gifted him with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He caressed Derek’s cheeks with the tips of his fingers before cupping them within his hands, erasing everything unnecessary from his mind by using every single piece of experience he had gathered in the past ten years, locking his feelings away into the furthest corners of his mind, knowing that if he allowed them to remain at the forefront of his mind he would risk hurting them both.

“I won’t hurt you, Derek,” Harry murmured and pulled Derek closer to press a lingering kiss into the werewolf’s forehead. “I swear on my life that everything will be okay.”

Derek nodded minutely as Harry ducked his head and connected their foreheads, eyes slipping closed as he took a deep breath and exhaling, his fingers tangling in the short hair behind Derek’s ears.

“Relax and breathe,” Harry murmured, breathing in through his nose and holding it as he opened his mind.

**cut**

“It’s taking awfully long,” Stiles commented in a brittle voice, pacing from one side of the living room to the other, hands flailing occasionally before he would either wring them together, tug on the sleeves of his hoodie or bury them in its pockets, his movements jerky and abrupt.

“What are they doing either way?” Lydia asked feeling more than a little restless and frustrated, sitting straight as a board, hands clasped in her lap as she dragged her right thumb over her left, that being one of the signs of how anxious she was. Kira sat on the couch with her arms wrapped around her waist and her legs tucked beneath her with Melissa sitting to her right, her arms wrapped reassuringly around the young kitsune.

Scott was leaning against the frame of the entrance to the living room, arms crossed over his chest as he listened intently to what was going on in his bedroom. “They’ve been quiet for a while now,” he said, shifting his weight slightly, eyebrows narrowing as he listened more carefully to what was happening upstairs. “Harry had started on bringing Derek’s memories back some twenty minutes ago,” he added softly while directing his gaze to the others.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Stiles asked, pausing in his pacing and spun around to look at Scott, wrapping his arms around his waist as though he was trying to stop himself from running to Harry and Derek.

“Harry knows what he’s doing,” Melissa spoke up and the teens looked at her making her raise eyebrows at them. “What? He brought all of _you_ home safe and sound!” she exclaimed and the teens looked away, Scott ducking his head _knowing_ he would get an earful later about lying to his mom and skipping states without her knowing.

“You’re right,” Lydia spoke up, making the others look at her, and she raised her head with a determined nod. “Harry will know how to bring Derek’s memories back without overloading his mind, and at least then we’ll be able to come up with an answer to what Kate wanted with Derek.”

“ _If_ Derek will be in the right state of mind to _share_ ,” Stiles pressed out through his teeth, raising his right hand to his lips and biting into his tongue.

“Look, Stiles, the moment Derek gets his memories back he could return to how he normally is as much as we know,” Scott spoke, trying to sound reassuring, waving his right hand in pointed gesticulations. “He’ll want to get to the bottom of this as much as…” Just as Scott stopped speaking, eyes widening, a pain filled, thunderous roar echoed through the house.

One all of them recognized.

“Derek?” Stiles gasped as the women got to their feet and Scott turned around.

“I smell blood,” spoke Kira and Scott at the same time, and within a second they all ran out of the room and up the stairs. Scott slammed the door of his bedroom open in time to see Harry fly into the bookshelves aligning the wall to the right, breaking them and tumbling down among broken wood-boards and torn books, and at the same time Derek jumped off of the bed in the opposite direction, moving backwards almost bent over, hands fisted over his ears as pained grunts and whimpers passed bared, sharp teeth.

Derek fell to his knees, shoulders heaving as he struggled to breathe in while the group of people standing in the doorway too shocked to move stared at the scene with wide eyes and bated breath.

He raised his head, showing his still teenaged appearance, and his eyes flared electric blue before fading into their normal stunning washed-out green, widening as memories unlocked by Harry settled in their proper order. Derek’s breathing grew strained again as he slowly lowered his hands, seeing the blood and looking at the prone form of Harry as realization struck him.

“Harry!” Melissa cried out, pushed past the teens and fell to her knees beside the wizard, her hands hovering over his unconscious form as blood soaked his shirt from the deep wounds on his sides, spilling onto the books and broken shelves.

“No…” Derek breathed out as he realized what he did, but before he could move Stiles called out to him frantically, ran over and fell to his knees beside Derek, wrapping his arms around the werewolf to stop his from running away, and both looked at Melissa when she finally moved.

“Lydia, call an ambulance!” Melissa snapped and Lydia ran out of the room to get her phone which she left in the living room. “Scott, get over here! We need to move him!” Scott ran over to his mom and Harry, falling to his knees across from Melissa and the two slowly raised Harry up, carrying him over to the bed and laying him down on it.

“Derek, we need to wash your hands,” Stiles blurted out, looking at Derek and seeing him completely still with shock and horror. Gone was the innocence of youth from Derek’s eyes; that gaze was now one Stiles knew very well. “Derek!” he snapped and Derek looked at him, eyebrows narrowing as he took Stiles in.

“Stiles?” he breathed out brokenly and Stiles could have laughed in relief at the glimmer of recognition in those perfect orbs. Only he couldn’t. He couldn’t because there was desperation in Derek’s eyes and self-loathing, and confusion and _fear_ \- so much _fear_ that it took Stiles’ breath away.

“Come on,” Stiles whispered as he took a firmer hold of Derek and brought him into the bathroom adjacent to Scott’s room and sat the werewolf down on the toilet after closing it. Stiles hurriedly grabbed a towel, opened the water and wetted it before he fell on his knees in front of Derek, took a firm hold of the werewolf’s right wrist and started to wash the blood off of Derek’s hand.

“I hurt him…” Derek whispered brokenly and Stiles glanced up, finding Derek staring at something beyond Stiles with wide, unfocused eyes. “What the hell happened? I - How is he _here_?!”

“Derek!” Stiles snapped, throwing the towel to the side before he grabbed a firm hold of Derek’s face, digging his nails in the tender skin behind Derek’s ears and making the werewolf look at him, facing that wide-eyed stare with a strict, firm glare. “Harry had to give you back your memories. Now, whatever happened, however he ended up hurt, it doesn’t matter right now.”

“You know…”

“Yes, I know what happened to him,” Stiles cut Derek off, glancing towards the door where the sounds of hurried movement reached their ears. “But _right now_ we don’t have time to go over that.”

“But I…” Derek tried to speak but words just wouldn’t pass his lips. “I don’t understand…” he finally pressed out and Stiles froze in his place, staring up at Derek who seemed utterly confused. Even if he _didn’t_ look ten years younger, Stiles would _still_ be taken aback by that lost expression. “Last thing I remember is being shot by Kate, and now… Now I’m back to looking like a 17 year old kid, and my memories are hardly making any sense even though I _know_ I lived through all of it, and yet my memories from the time before Harry’s…”

“Derek, you need to calm down!”

“ _I can’t!_ ” Derek cried out, looking at Stiles frantically. “I can’t calm down! Harry was like a _brother_ to me before he disappeared! After that _everything_ went wrong!” the werewolf shouted, confused, desperate and torn between so many things he couldn’t _hope_ to name them all. “And now _Kate_ is back, I have _no idea_ what she did to me, and _Harry_ is back, after _ten years_ and I… I…” the werewolf blew out a pained breath, blinking away tears of frustration, Stiles’ heart aching for him. “He brought my memories back and he helped you get me back and I… I _hurt_ him. I hurt him, Stiles, and…”

“Derek…” Stiles whispered, covering Derek’s hands with his own and looking straight in Derek’s eyes. “Harry knew the risk of returning your memories. He wouldn’t have done this if he wasn’t sure both of you would be alright. You lashed out, yes, butHarry won’t hate you. _We_ won’t hate you. _I…_ ” he choked up and Derek’s lips parted, his eyes _begging_ Stiles to tell him something, _anything_ to make him feel better. “I won’t hate you.”

Derek let go of a long breath, nodding as his heartbeat finally slowed down. The door of the bathroom slammed open and Kira walked in, looking at the two with wide eyes. “The ambulance is on its way. Harry’s awake,” she blurted out, disappearing out of sigh when Lydia called for her.  

Derek and Stiles exchanged a glance before both jumped to their feet and Derek rushed to wash his hands while Stiles quickly hid the blood stained towel. They ran into the bedroom to find Melissa pressing white towels slowly soaking up with blood against Harry’s sides, and Scott was holding the wizard who was sitting on the bed up with his hands on Harry’s shoulders while Harry had a firm grip on Scott’s forearms, blunt nails biting into Scott’s skin.

Lydia and Kira were out of sight, both having run out of the house to wait for the ambulance. Harry’s head was so low his chin was touching the top of his chest, and even Stiles could hear the strained breaths accompanied by minute rising of Harry’s shoulders as the wizard wheezed for air.

Derek took a hesitant step back before the guilt almost overwhelmed him, and he would have ran away had a strained whisper not reached his ears. “Derek?” he looked at Harry who managed to raise his head just a bit, looking at the de-aged werewolf over his left shoulder with eyes darkened by pain, face pale with blood-loss.

Unable to think and do anything else, Derek rushed over to Harry, crouching to the wizard’s left, and he looked up, his hands moving of their own accord to cover Melissa’s.

“We need new towels,” Melissa muttered and hurried off, certain that Derek would keep the pressure on the wounds.

“I’m sorry, Derek,” Harry apologized thickly in a wheezing voice, struggling to breathe over the pain. “I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t speak,” Derek blurted out, swallowing thickly when he glanced down at the formerly white towels. “And… and I caught some of your memories…” Harry’s eyes widened and he grew ghostly pale, “specifically the memories of the night you were taken-”

“Derek-”

“I don’t know what happened to you,” Derek spoke hoarsely, forcing down a difficult swallow and looking into Harry’s eyes, “and yes I am angry… I’m so pissed off, Harry. But…”

“And I’m sorry for that, Derek…” Harry whispered, looking in Derek’s eyes. “I’m sorry for not being here-”

“You couldn’t have done anything-”

“Not for that,” Harry interrupted him, his eyes dulling and growing unfocused as he struggled to stay conscious. “I’m sorry for not being there. For - for taking Peter from you…” Derek’s eyes widened and he looked up at Harry again, his heart aching at the self-depreciating, self-loathing smile tilting Harry’s lips. “I’m - I’m sorry…” Harry’s words get lost in a gust of air as he ducked his head, weakness almost overwhelming him.

“Harry, stop talking and just concentrate on breathing, okay?” Derek instructed and Harry struggled to open his eyes. And Derek could see it. Derek could see the glimpses of Harry’s memories he had gotten a quick glance at when Harry was in his head. Just small snippets worth all around nothing, but he had seen enough. He had seen the night Harry was taken, and in Derek’s opinion -- now that he had a semblance of control and that his memories were finally realigning themselves in his mind -- it was enough.

“I need to…”

“The only thing you need now is _survive,_ ” Derek pressed out in a tight voice, staring ardently into Harry’s eyes. The wizard let go of a wavering breath, ducking his head, tongue peaking out to wet dry lips as the trembling of Harry’s body grew stronger.

“Mom, his heartbeat is growing faster!” Scott cried out, making both Derek and Harry wince, and Derek pressed harder against Harry’s sides, making the wizard tense up with pain.

“I’m sorry,” Derek blurted out thoughtlessly and Harry shook his head, although he heaved at that action, forcing down a swallow before he opened his eyes, unfortunately lacking the strength to look at Derek.

“You have nothing to feel sorry about, love,” Harry whispered to him, lips tilting up into a small smile, as his breathing grew shallower and quicker.

“You need to lie him down!” Melissa called out before she ran into the room with a new set of towels, but before Scott and Derek could lay Harry down on the bed, the wizard slumped within their hold, a short puff of air escaping bluish lips, and at the same time the sound of the ambulance siren reached their ears. “Forget that! Get him up and carry him downstairs!”

“I’ll tell the paramedics to get ready!” shouted Stiles - who had until then stood in the doorway of the bathroom, observing everything quietly, not knowing what else to do - as he ran out of the room while Derek scooped Harry into his arms with Scott quickly taking clean towels from Melissa and pressing them against Harry’s wounds.

They hurried carefully down the stairs, Stiles and Kira holding the door open and Lydia no where in sight, and Melissa running behind them, mumbling under her breath for a believable story Scott and Derek only half listened to.

The moment they were out, the werewolves became immediately aware of the neighbors gathering on the street, but they paid them no heed. Two paramedics jumped out of the ambulance van listening to Lydia’s hurried babbling and hardly understanding anything.

“Ten stab wounds! Unknown source! His blood pressure is low and he lost over a liter of blood!” Melissa shouted as the werewolves carried Harry into the van where another paramedic was waiting. Scott moved back while Derek laid Harry down, his eyes widening when the paramedic immediately grabbed Harry’s bloody left hand, searching for the vein to push the infusion needle in.

“Son, you need to get out! We need to…”

“He’s my uncle!” Derek snapped the first thing that came to mind, glancing at the gathered teens outside of the van with Melissa talking hurriedly with the third paramedic, and Derek turned pleading eyes at the other two, staring at them imploringly. “Please, I _have_ to go with him! He’s the - he’s the only family I have left!” Derek begged, not really knowing _why_. He only knew that the only way to make him leave Harry’s side right now would be if all the teens held him back physically.

“Just let the kid drive with us!” the paramedic that spoke with Melissa snapped and ran off to take the seat in the front, and Melissa climbed the back, telling the others to meet up with them in the hospital.

Derek rounded the bed Harry lay in and took a seat to the wizard’s right, taking Harry’s scarred, right hand within his trembling ones and suppressing a whine at the feel of cold, clammy skin.

“He’s going to be fine, sweetie,” Melissa assured him as she helped the paramedics cut Harry’s t-shirt open, revealing his torso, and Derek’s eyes widened at the sight of a scar on the left side of Harry’s chest, right under his heart. It looked like something round and big was pushed into Harry’s stomach, leaving a scar behind morbidly reminding Derek of a star with the few outwards points. There was another scar of Harry’s right collar bone indicating that it was broken at some point in the past ten years and that the bone had pierced skin.

“Good god, kid, what happened to your uncle?” one paramedic muttered and Derek’s lips opened and closed a few times, but no words came out. Melissa glanced at him, her brown eyes wide with worry yet full of understanding, and she spoke up to spare Derek the trouble.

“He is a secret contractor of the government specializing in tracking and marking weapons sold under the table by mass producing companies, now shut your snouts and help me keep him alive!” she spoke harshly and the paramedics gaped at her for a second before jumping to do their job, and Melissa glanced at Derek who gifted her with a grateful nod.

He looked at Harry’s face, the pallor of the wizard’s skin sending a shiver down Derek’s spine and he closed his eyes, ducking his head, his heart beating in his ears, the wolf just short of coming out. He could feel the itching in his gums and tips of fingers, and Derek squeezed his eyes tightly shut, pressing Harry’s cold clammy hand against his forehead.

“He’s going to be fine, sweetie,” Melissa spoke up, taking a seat to Derek’s right, and draping one arm over his back. “He’s going to be fine.” She rested her forehead on the side of Derek’s head, hugging him tightly.

“We need his data,” one of the paramedics said, and Melissa looked up before she glanced at Derek, her eyes widening minutely when he opened his eyes and she caught sight of electric blues.

“Right…” she breathed out, glancing over Harry, trying to think of something.

“His right back pocket…” Derek gasped under his breath and keeping his head down he helped Melissa raise Harry just enough so that she could sneak her hand inside his pocket and dig out an elegant black wallet. She flipped it open with trembling hands and dug out the ID, sniffing as she squinted to read it while Derek took a hold of Harry’s hand again, hunching his shoulders lower and bowing his head further down, his shoulders heaving with deep, strained breaths.

“O-okay…” Melissa stuttered out, wiping the tears which trailed down her cheeks with the back of her right hand, forcing herself into her professional persona before glancing at the paramedic holding some papers they’d need to fill. “His full name is Prewitt, Anthony Darius, born June 31st 1983…”

Melissa’s voice faded into background noise as Derek concentrated solely on Harry’s heartbeat, urging it, _begging_ it to go on. His memories were back completely, the little snips of Harry’s own memories slowly fading every time Derek would try to grasp them, but he couldn’t make himself care.

Last he knew about Harry was that he and Peter had been together before Harry mysteriously disappeared in the middle of the night. Peter had gone insane searching for Harry, losing the fight against the wolf that had lost his Mate. Talia had to take drastic measures else they would have lost Peter to the hunters or him taking his own life, and she couldn’t allow that to happen to her beloved brother, but Peter was never the same after that.

Even though he remembered nothing, Peter turned bitter, sarcastic, cynical and ironic, and his mischievous side turned more masochistic which all grew out of proportions when he had lost his pack, losing his mind along the way. Now, Derek didn’t know what would happen next. He _did_ know that before they could think about anything, they had to make sure Harry would be alright. Then they would have to locate Kate and find out why she turned Derek into a teenager again.

And _then_ there would be hell to pay.

**cut**

“We need to get to the hospital,” Lydia blurted out the moment the ambulance disappeared around a corner, speaking quietly so none of the curious neighbors could hear her.

“Melissa will have to call my dad,” Stiles spoke, his voice breaking as he rubbed his head with his hands, fisting them in his hair and huffing. “She’ll need to tell him everything.”

“And that means we’ll have his help with taking care of Kate,” Scott spoke up, the other three frowning at him. “But that won’t be enough.”

“Should I talk with my parents?” Kira offered and Scott shook his head.

“They have no idea about all these things. We need someone who knows the Argents; knows how they think,” he said, glancing at Stiles and Lydia, the human groaning as he allowed his hands to flop to his sides, hitting against his thighs.

“And we all know what _that_ means,” Stiles muttered, not at all happy.

“We need to find Peter,” Lydia spoke, crossing her arms over her chest and shifting her weight uncomfortably. “I doubt Derek is in the right state of mind to think of why Kate would want him as a seventeen year old.”

“I’ve heard what Derek told Harry before getting his memories back,” Scott said. “You guys go to the hospital and I’ll go to Derek’s apartment. I’ll see if Derek has Peter’s address written somewhere and I’ll get Peter. You guys wait in the hospital for me.”

“My car is parked over at your house,” Lydia said to Stiles who nodded minutely.

“And my Jeep is parked in front of Derek’s apartment so I’m grabbing a ride on your bike,” Stiles said to Scott. “Let’s go.”

“Keep your phones close,” Scott warned the girls and they quickly ran off in different directions with only one thing in mind.

They needed to be quick.

**cut**

**I’m thinking about completely forgetting about the whole Benefactor plot of the fourth season. It seemed utterly ridiculous to me. In the end the conclusion to the plot was weak and had no sense _at all_ to me, especially with the whole story about Lydia’s grandmother and Meredith. So I’m thinking that I’ll just focus on Kate and forget about that part entirely. **

**What do you think?**


	7. Mate

**cut**

“Hey!” Stiles called out quietly as he ran over to Derek who stood alone in the waiting room in the ER. The still teen-age looking Derek stood up and gave Stiles a once over when the teen stopped right in front of him, frowning when he realized that Stiles was alone.

“Where are Scott and the girls?” he asked and Stiles huffed, dragging his hands through his hair before he took a seat, taking a deep breath and rubbing his face with his hands before they flopped into his lap.

“Scott went to Peter,” Stiles said and Derek’s frown darkened as he took a seat beside Stiles, turning slightly as not to take his eyes off of him, “we figured that we’d get to the bottom of Kate’s plan faster with him since he might have an idea why she’d want you at this age, and Kira sent me a text 10 minutes ago that she and Lydia made a detour to the gas station. They’ll be here as soon as they’re done.” Derek nodded, turning his head from Stiles as his hard stare focused on the floor.

“Peter might be able to help,” he murmured, “although bringing him here with Harry in this condition…”

“Peter doesn’t remember Harry,” Stiles interrupted Derek staring at him in confusion. He felt that he should remind Derek of this complex fact before the other got any bright ideas about the two adults.

Derek blinked once before responding slowly, “Yeah, but Harry remembers Peter, and even though Harry’s scent has changed, there is a possibility that Peter’s wolf will recognize Harry as its mate, and that could cause all sorts of problems right now.”

“Isn’t there a way to bring Peter’s memories back?” Stiles’ legs started hopping and Derek reflexively placed his right hand on Stiles’ left knee, achieving immediate effect. “Sorry,” mumbled the hyperactive teen and Derek took his hand back.

“It’s okay,” he answered quietly glancing towards the door leading to the operation room as he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “And only an alpha can unlock the memories locked away by an alpha,” he spoke distractedly and Stiles frowned at him, following the focused gaze to the double door.

“Did they tell you anything?” Stiles asked quietly and Derek shook his head, nibbling on his bottom lip.

“Nothing,” he denied, looking down the hall where they’d taken Harry. “They took him to the operation room the moment he was brought in and Mrs. McCall left to fill out paperwork. She came up with a story about him being a _secret contractor of the government specializing in tracking and marking weapons sold under the table by mass producing companies_.” Derek snorted, lips tilting up into a small smirk, while Stiles’ eyebrows climbed to the line of his hair, lips going slack.

“Really now…” Stiles muttered and Derek let go of a huffing laugh, shaking his head.

“Did you know that his documents say that his name is _Anthony Darius Prewitt_?” Derek looked at Stiles who frowned in confusion while Derek’s eyes filled with questions.

“Derek…” Stiles started slowly, his hands twitching jerkily in his lap as though he managed to stop himself from reaching out for Derek in less than a second. “I don’t know how Harry was before, but I can tell you with certainty that he’s _not_ the man you remember.”

Derek snorted, irony shining in his eyes, and he looked at Stiles with a mockery of a smile. “I can see that, thank you,” he answered, and Stiles swallowed before he bit into his lip, “but something tells me that you know _some_ of the things that happened to make him into this - _this_.” Derek nodded towards the operation room, flailing his left hand in the same direction, and Stiles nodded before he took a deep breath and held it for a moment before breathing out.

“Well…” he muttered and sat back in his seat with Derek remaining in the same position, only tilting his head to the side to keep his eyes trained on Stiles. “I guess I should start where he started when he told us about what happened,” Stiles murmured thoughtfully, and Derek nodded minutely, not really sure Stiles had seen it since the hyperactive boy had his head tilted back, distant gaze focused on the ceiling.

“It all started with a very _bad_ wizard back in England who wanted to conquer the world…”

**cut**

Scott took a deep breath before he took a hold of the heavy metal door leading into Derek’s apartment. He sincerely hoped he would find a way to locate Peter without having to run around town searching for the older werewolf’s scent.

They needed all the help they could get, and even though Peter basically _started_ the whole mess of Scott becoming a werewolf and everything that followed, after having been resurrected Peter had always been helpful - in his own sarcastic, borderline _spiteful_ way - and had stayed out of their way when they didn’t need him.

They didn’t know what the werewolf was doing _half_ the time, but he had yet to fail them by not being there when they truly needed him, and while that didn’t exactly make anyone _like_ him, they knew that they could count on him to be there for this, because despite Peter being all sorts of bad guy, he still cared about family.

Or what little family he still had left.

Scott pushed the door open after jiggling the handle with a claw in the lock and walked into the apartment; catching the familiar scent almost immediately and looking to the left, gaze settling on the sprawled out form on the couch in more than obvious surprise.

“My dear _nephew_ isn’t here, so _why_ would you be breaking into his apartment?” Peter drawled, closing the book he had been reading and throwing it on the low, square tea table to his right before he stood up with all the grace of a predator and looked at Scott with a thin, dry smile.

“I came here looking for you,” Scott replied with a small, confused scowl, wondering what Peter was actually doing there in the first place. Never mind that his own presence was entirely suspicious as well.

“Well, you’ve found me,” Peter drawled, raising his hands to the sides as though presenting himself. “As you can see I was here, reading a good book and not plotting a way to do anything _evil_.”

“I’m not here to start a fight,” Scott muttered, wrinkling his nose. “If we wanted to keep an eye on you we would have done something about it. I was looking for you because we need your help.”

Those words made Peter’s eyebrows meet the line of his hair. He crossed his arms and gave Scott a good once over, checking to see if the young alpha was serious, and hummed shortly, pursing his lips a bit obviously weighing Scott’s words.

“Really now,” he finally uttered in curiosity and Scott huffed, dragging his right hand through his hair and scratching the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” Scott dipped his head in a nod of exasperation. “There have been some… _complications_ ,” he dragged the word out, not able to think of a better way to put it, and Peter cocked an eyebrow at him before leveling a dull look at the teen.

“Explain,” he bit out.

Scott took a deep breath. “In short?” he scrunched up his face, earning a dull stare from Peter. “Kate Argent is back,” Peter’s face went slack and his lips parted. “And _apparently_ she’s a were-jaguar.”

Heavy silence settled over the huge room as Peter stared at Scott speechless. Then his expression turned to one of disbelief, quickly morphing into disgust and then into anger, before settling quite suddenly on annoyance.

“Can anyone _stay_ dead in this town?” Peter spat, eyes flaring that eerie blue that made Scott uncomfortable to look into and the irony of the older wolf’s words were not lost on him.

“You’re the one who started the trend,” he muttered and Peter huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, I see how that would have something to do with _me_ ,” he grimaced in obvious disdain as he flapped his right hand shortly, “but what would you need my help with?”

Scott took a deep breath and glanced around the open space of the living room. “Well, let’s just say that things are uglier than you may think.”

Peter scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s the Argents,” he muttered. “Things are _always_ ugly with them.” Scott’s eyebrows narrowed in a scowl at those words, but Peter cut him to the chase by speaking again. “Tell me everything.”

**cut**

“I can’t believe that the only gas station in Beacon Hills is so far out of town,” Lydia grumbled as she stopped the car on the gas station and dug around for her purse while Kira untied her seatbelt and offered a small smile.

“Well at least it’s close to the hospital,” she offered helpfully and Lydia hummed, pushing the door of the car open and getting out. She spun on her heel and bowed down to look at Kira.

“Would you take one of the cards and go to pay for the gas while I fill the tank? We’ll be done faster that way,” Lydia asked and Kira nodded, glad to be helpful.

“Sure, no problem!” she said and Lydia gifted her with a small smile before she hurried off. Kira flipped down the sun visor only to gape at the sheer _number_ of cards neatly lined up. “Is it _good_ or _bad_ to have so many credit cards?” she called out to Lydia trying to decide which one to take, only to halt when no answer came. “Lydia?”

The kitsune frowned when she received no answer and looked around her gaze falling on the front console. “Lydia, your tank is… full?” she murmured in confusion and not a moment later her eyes widened. “Lydia…” she breathed out and hurriedly got out of the car. Turning around she saw no sign of the other girl. Chewing her lip she walked away from the car.

“Lydia!” Kira walked around quickly, trying to locate the banshee, only to halt in her step when she found the strawberry-blonde standing absolutely still in front of an open door less than ten meters in front of the startled kitsune. “Lydia?”

The banshee didn’t respond as Kira approached her slowly, only tilting her head to the side a bit, her eyes not leaving the sight before her. “Don’t look,” Lydia whispered tightly, and despite the warning Kira turned towards the door, her eyes widening and a startled gasp leaving her lips at the horrible sight her gaze settled upon. Her stomach rolled thickly and her hand came up to her mouth, fingers lightly pressed to her lips.

“Oh god…”

**cut**

“So let me summarize…” Peter enunciated, crossing his arms over his chest and ducking his head a bit looking at Scott with a doubtful stare. “Kate took Derek to the temple of Tezcatlipoca and she _de-aged_ him. You found out and went after him with a _wizard_ who’s an old friend of Stiles’ dad and your mom, and who _coincidentally_ came to live in Beacon Hills after all the shit that had happened. You went _with him_ , no less, _saved_ Derek and brought him back, and this _Harry_ brought back Derek’s memories. Derek lashed out and hurt him - which I totally understand by the way - and _you_ came to _me_ to ask for help in finding and dealing with _Kate_ , because you guys don’t know what she wants with a seventeen year old Derek.”

It would have been more impressive if Peter had said that under one breath, but with the vivid grimacing and theatrical hand movements, Peter somehow put the point across, making it sound more than _slightly_ far-fetched even to Scott _who was there_.

“Look, Peter, will you help us or not?” Scott asked, shaking his head to chase away the confusion and Peter sighed contemplatively, looking around the apartment and raising his hands.

“Oh I don’t know, Scott, I’ve just been so _busy_ ,” he drawled, lips tilting up in a smirk, and Scott could _swear_ he heard something in his brain _snap_.

Most probably some of the strands of his patience.

“Peter-” Before Scott could try another bit of convincing, his phone rang and he quickly took it out of his pocket frowning when the caller ID said that it was Lydia. “What is it?” he blurted out the moment he answered the call.

 _“Scott, we have a problem,”_ Lydia stated matter-of-factly and Scott looked at Peter with a frown finding the older werewolf staring at him in interest.

“What happened?” Scott asked.

 _“I found a body,”_ the high pitched upturn of Lydia’s voice made it sound like a question, but Scott didn’t need to see Lydia to know that she was close to panicking. He only hoped Kira was well enough to help Lydia keep her cool. _“And to be perfectly honest, I have a 4.0 in AP Biology, and there are parts of the human anatomy I have never seen before on these walls.”_

“Can she send pictures?” Peter asked in interest and Scott quickly put the phone on speaker.

“Can you send us pictures?” he asked, exchanging a glance with Peter, and they heard Lydia let go of something between a groan and a whine with Kira muttering something unintelligible in the background.

 _“I’m sending you the photos, Scott, and I honestly think we have a very big problem on our hands.”_ Scott’s phone chimed with the messaged photos, and he inhaled sharply at the sight Lydia and Kira were seeing first hand.

“This wasn’t an assassination,” Peter muttered stepping closer to Scott and squinting at the photos. “She’s out of control.” He looked at Scott and the young alpha’s eyes widened in realization while Peter smirked in evil satisfaction. “She can’t control the shift.”

 _“But why would she need Derek for that?”_ Kira’s voice came over the line and the two werewolves fell into thoughtful silence.

“Wait. To what age did you say Kate _de-aged_ Derek?” Peter asked in quiet contemplation.

“If I heard correctly, Derek remembered killing someone called Paige, but not the fire,” Scott answered readily, choosing his words wisely as not to imply that Peter knew Harry. While it has been difficult to tell the whole story to Peter and avoiding certain parts about Harry and Peter knowing one another, Scott really didn’t believe they had time to cover that right now, and he though that Harry and Peter’s former relationship should be something handled between them.

“Which _means_ , Kate brought Derek back to the age when he still _knew_ her,” Peter concluded slowly, shooting Scott a pointed stare, “when he still _trusted_ her.”

Scott’s mouth opened slowly, his eyes widening as they shone with realization. “Lydia, Kira, I need you to go to the hospital. We need to meet up with Derek and Stiles.”

 _“On our way. I’ll call Deputy Parrish and tell him about the body. See you in the hospital in 20 minutes,”_ Lydia answered.

“Be careful,” Scott warned, “and see you soon.” He ended the call and pushed the phone in the pocket of his jacket. “You going?” he asked the older werewolf and watched as Peter took a deep breath.

“Well, it’s not like I have anything better to do.”

**cut**

Derek stared at the tiled floor of the hospital with wide harsh eyes and teeth pressed tightly together. The story Stiles told him echoed through his mind, each word cutting itself into his memory and making his heart clench, the air he breathed turning into acid at the same time.

In conclusion, Peter and Harry suffered something horrible just because a group of wanna-be-heroes decided that they would achieve something by enslaving the most powerful one among them. Harry had been lied to, had been used and abused - _tortured_ even - while Peter went insane with the loss of his Mate only to lose his family because of Derek’s foolish mistake.

“Stop it.” Derek was shaken from his thoughts by Stiles biting out those two words, and he looked at the seventeen year old with eyebrows narrowed in confusion. “I can see that you’re sinking into guilt-tripping. Stop it. You’ve gotten over that. Don’t go back to it.”

Derek sucked on his teeth as he looked at his joined hands, a shiver passing up his spine when Stiles leaned closer and covered them with his right hand, bony, pale fingers contrasting sharply with Derek’s slightly tanned skin.

“Stiles, Harry was _nothing_ like this when I’d last seen him,” Derek spoke in a throaty voice, his eyes stinging suspiciously, and not with the wolf threatening to come out. “It’s like - _especially_ since my memories of him are so fresh after what Kate did to me - it’s like seeing him yesterday all smiles and laughter and will for life, head over heels in love with Peter and out of his mind with happiness, only to meet him again today a complete 180.”

Derek looked at Stiles who stared at him, really _trying_ to imagine Harry as Derek described him and yet failing miserably. “His - his right arm is scared beyond repair, he has scars on his torso a _werewolf_ would have traces of since I can only _imagine_ the sort of wounds that inflicted them, and god knows how many more, and…”

“Stiles!”

Derek was interrupted by John running into the waiting room and the two teens stood up, both holding their breaths when the sheriff stopped right in front of them, gaping for a second as he looked at Derek who - unable to stop himself - cocked an eyebrow at John.

“Melissa called me,” John finally spoke up, turning to look at Stiles, blinking rapidly a few times. “She explained everything to me.”

Stiles opened his mouth, but before he could say anything John raised his right hand and pointed at Stiles who slammed him mouth shut, teeth clicking together audibly, and looked at his dad with wide eyes. “You, young man, are in serious trouble, and we’ll talk about this when we get home, but _you_ …” John turned to Derek who recoiled slightly when that finger was pointed at him.

John rested his hands on his waist, squinting at Derek, lips parted in absolute wonder and confusion. “Are you _really_ Derek?” he spoke in a strained voice and Derek nodded minutely, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Yes, sir,” Derek answered firmly and John huffed, shaking his head in disbelief, before he raised his right hand and rubbed his eyes.

“I can’t believe this,” he brushed his hand through his hair and turned his back on them, slowly pacing in front of them as he rolled all the information in his head over and over again, trying to process it. “First _Harry_ comes back, then _you_ decide that _lying_ about a _camping trip_ is a good idea to cover your little trip to Mexico, and then…”

“Dad, Harry had _nothing_ with us deciding to go to Mexico without telling you,” Stiles interrupted John who looked at him with a frown. “He was in Deaton’s office on pure accident, and when we said that we would go to Mexico to look for Derek he said that the smarter thing to do would be to inform you first. When I… When I said that we would lose too much time by going about it the legal way Harry said that if we insist on going without telling you that he would go with us.”

Derek took a step to the side, giving the father and son room to breathe, not really believing that anything he would say would bring them anywhere closer to calming down.

“Stiles…” John sighed helplessly, hitting his hands against his thighs. “I thought we were past the stage of you not telling me these things.”

Stiles forced down a swallow, ducking his head and shifting his weight, his hands clenching and unclenching slowly by his sides as he hopped in his place a bit. “We are, dad,” he whispered, pushing his hands inside his pockets. “This time I - I just couldn’t risk something happening to Derek.”

The werewolf in question looked at Stiles with a small frown, something around his heart clenching at the thought that Stiles had lied to his dad because he wanted to save Derek as quickly as possible. Even after the whole Nogitsune fiasco, after hardly seeing Derek for quite a while, Stiles still thought him important enough to leave everything behind just to run to his aid. Alright, Derek may have won Stiles’ trust by believing him over Jennifer, but Derek didn’t even _assume_ that Stiles thought of him like this.

Before either one of them could say anything though, the door to the ER opened and Melissa walked out, looking relieved and almost dead on her feet, and she gifted them with a smile as she walked over to them.

“Harry will be just fine,” she said, making Derek and Stiles sag in relief while John just breathed out, shoulders hunching forward. “Thankfully there was no damage to his organs, and even though he lost a lot of blood we managed to take care of everything. They are taking him to a room right now, and you’ll be able to go and see him in some thirty minutes.”

“Thank god,” Stiles breathed out heavenwards, eyes slipping closed for a moment.

“Did they say anything else?” Derek asked, taking a small step towards Melissa who offered him a small, reassuring smile.

“Everything’s alright, Derek, no one will suspect you. Since I’ve told them about Harry’s supposed profession, I came up with a story that you are my nephew _thrice_ removed-” she flailed her hand as though waving the words off with a snort, “and that you were supposed to stay at my place for a few days while Harry deals with an exchange in San Francisco. I said that he appeared on my doorstep suddenly and that we have no idea how he received those wounds, but they’re suspecting mountain lion attacks.” Melissa glanced towards John with a small smirk, and the sheriff snorted, shaking his head.

“Anyway, Harry will be just fine,” Melissa stressed out. “Since I’ve mentioned his profession no one here will ask any questions unless Harry himself comes up with something. What _I_ would like to now though, is where is my wayward son and the rest of your merry entourage.” She looked at Stiles expectantly and the teen cleared his throat, flapping his hands which were still tucked inside the pockets of his hoodie.

“Lydia and Kira should be here any minute now,” Stiles said, shifting his weight from his heels to his toes slowly, looking anywhere but at Melissa, “and Scott went to talk with Peter.” He scrunched up his face, pressing his lips in a thin line, while Melissa’s lips parted, left hand landing on her wrist while she raised her right, gesticulating something although no words left her mouth for a long moment.

Not a second later the door behind them opened with a bag, and Stiles breathed out sharply as all four of them turned to look at Scott, Lydia, Kira and surprisingly _Peter_ , the four of them looking more than just slightly disturbed.

“We may have figured out what Kate wanted with Derek,” Lydia blurted out before anyone could ask any questions, the banshee looking quite pale and shaken, although one could say she looked just fine compared to Kira who invented a new shade of white with how pale she was, and her eyes couldn’t be wider if she honestly tried.

Scott looked as though he ate the sourest lemon in the world, while Peter stared at Derek with a shocked squint, lips parted in wonder.

“I can’t believe this,” Peter murmured and Derek scowled at him, making his Uncle raise an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t even try,” Derek spoke darkly. “I have all my memories.” Peter pursed his lips, clasping his hands behind his back as he tsked.

“Not cute at all, my dear nephew,” he drawled, left corner of his lips tilting up. “Not cute at all.”

“Nurse McCall?” they all turned around when a doctor called out to Melissa and she hurried over to talk to him while the others gathered in a tight circle.

“What does she want with Derek?” Stiles asked, glancing at Peter before he looked at Scott, unconsciously - but not unnoticed by everyone - taking a step closer to Derek whose eyes narrowed in thoughtful scrutiny.

“We think since she returned Derek to just - just before the fire,” Scott corrected what he wanted to say, quickly glancing at Peter, “we think she needs him for something because at that time Derek still loved and trusted her.”

“But what would she need from me?” Derek asked, glancing at the teens respectively before he looked at Peter.

“Kira and I found a body,” Lydia was the one who answered and John and Stiles choked up. “Don’t worry, sheriff, I’ve already notified Deputy Parrish,” spoke the banshee before taking a deep breath. “Peter concluded that Kate is out of control. She can’t control the shift and with the full moon she’s losing it.”

“You must have told her about the talisman, and she’s after it,” Peter took over, looking pointedly at Derek who choked up and paled. “Since it’s in the vault, she can’t get it without you.”

“Which is why she did _this_ to you,” Stiles concluded, waving his hand over Derek and making the werewolf’s scowl deepen.

“Everyone?” Melissa walked over to them, smiling warmly at the group. “They’ve settled Harry in his room. He’s alone so we can go see him, although just to warn you,” her eyes hardened as she looked at them pointedly, “if he wakes up don’t upset him. He needs peace right now, and upsetting him will only worsen his state.”

Everyone nodded hurriedly and Melissa grinned. “Well then, let’s go!” She turned to lead the way and they walked through the hospital in complete silence the group of five teens and three adults making a strange sight.

They stopped in front of a room, the plate beside the door reading _A. D. Prewitt_.

“I wonder who came up with the name,” Stiles muttered before Melissa shushed him and took the door-knob into her hand.

“Quiet,” she warned and opened the door, everyone trailing into the room quietly, too taken by the prone form of the wizard to notice that Peter halted in the doorway the moment Harry’s scent tickled his nose.

John was the first to approach the bed, looking at the sleeping wizard with wide eyes and parted lips. He placed his hands on the metal bar to Harry’s left, swallowing audibly as he glanced at the heart-monitor beeping in a steady rhythm and the IV dripping slowly. Harry had a nasal respirator on his face, helping him breathe since his ribs were bruised from his meeting with the bookshelf, but thankfully none of them were cracked.

Harry’s skin was paler than usual and there were dark circles under his eyes, and he was wheezing with every deep breath he took, the IV needle sticking out of his left hand which rested on Harry’s stomach. His head was tilted away from John, facing the window with the drapes pulled tightly over it.

“He’s going to be fine, John,” Melissa spoke up quietly and John looked at her his eyes settling on Derek who stood beside Melissa, looking at Harry with wide eyes, almost as pale as the wounded man.

“Son, I don’t really know what happened,” John addressed Derek who shifted his wide-eyed stare at him, “but don’t think for a _second_ that Harry will be angry with you, or that he will hate you.”

“Who is he?” Every head in the room turned towards Peter when he spoke up, and they found him still standing in the doorway, the strange expression on his face making everyone frown at him.

Peter looked as though he was staring at a puzzle, a mystery that was _begging_ him to solve it. His pupils were blown and his fingers were twitching, and both Scott and Derek could hear his quickening heartbeat.

“The ex-boyfriend you don’t remember,” John bit out scathingly before anyone could stop him, and everyone but Peter looked at John as though they wanted to jump him and slap their hands over his mouth while Peter stared at him with eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Don’t be an idiot, sheriff, because we both know you’re _not_ ,” Peter spoke, lips tilting into a small smirk, voice throaty with humor. “Believe me, if I ever dated someone that smelled like him, _I would remember it_ ,” Peter finished in a whisper full of certainty though for a moment something in his stare wavered.

“Not if your memories were locked away!” Kira blurted that out, and the young kitsune’s eyes widened as she slapped her hands over her lips, her gaze darting around at all the incredulous stares she received.

“Okay, _what_ is going on here?” Peter snapped through his teeth, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, crossing his arms over his chest and squinting at everyone suspiciously, settling on his nephew who returned his stare with a wholehearted glare - which on that teenaged face looked more like a _pout_ than an actual patented Derek-Hale-glare.

“Wait a second… just wait,” Scott spoke up and looked at Derek who turned to him, his expression shifting from the glare into something _much_ softer almost instantly. “Harry returned _your_ memories, Derek. Maybe he can give Peter’s memories back as well.”

“Only an alpha can return the memories another alpha locked away,” Derek said in a tight voice.

“Okay, _stop_!” Peter exclaimed causing Melissa to hiss and raise her hands in warning, while everyone else startled, _knowing_ that Peter was louder than it was necessary.

Before someone could chastise him though, a quiet groan broke the tense atmosphere and John spun in his place, grabbing a hold of the metal fence on the side of the bed, leaning forward a bit and looking down as a pair of unfocused, dilated emerald eyes opened.

“Harry?” John called out warmly. “Can you hear me?”

“John?” the wizard mumbled shifting a bit only to hiss and still, and Melissa hurried over to the bed when Harry’s heartbeat quickened.

“Harry, you need to stay calm,” Melissa spoke comfortingly and Harry looked at her, focusing on her eyes as he calmed his breathing, his heartbeat returning to normal too slowly for anyone’s liking.

“John…” Harry murmured, trying to sit up, and even though he grumbled something unintelligible John helped Harry up, frowning when the wizard winced and groaned, and Melissa tucked another pillow behind Harry’s back. The wizard sighed and relaxed once John lowered him on the pillow, Harry’s left hand settling on his ribs.

“How do you feel?” Derek asked, ignoring his uncle who observed everything with narrowed eyes, and approached the bed, his hands twitching as though he wanted to take a hold of Harry.

“Like a truck ran over me,” Harry muttered, gifting Derek with a small, weak smile. “And stop it,” Derek’s eyebrows narrowed. “I should have been more careful and taken into consideration how you could react. So don’t blame yourself for this. I’ve had worse.” Harry swallowed audibly, eyes slipping closed as he relaxed against the pillow.

“I’ll say,” Melissa spoke darkly, glancing at John whose lips parted at the seriousness of Melissa’s tone. “The amount of untreated or _mis_ treated injuries on your body is astounding,” she crossed her arms as she spoke, looking at Harry who tiredly cocked an eyebrow at her. “Makes me wonder how you can actually _move_ without _wincing_ or crying out in pain all the time.”

“What are you - what is she _talking_ about?” John redirected the question from Melissa to Harry who let go of a long breath and cocked an eyebrow at Melissa.

“We won’t know everything until we do a few tests and scans,” Melissa spoke, glancing at John as she rested the side of her right index finger on her chin, “but according to what we’ve seen during the operation, three of Harry’s ribs were broken in the past three or four years, his right collar bone _was_ fixed, but there seem to be some muscle tissue between the bones. The scarring on his right hand is cause for enough concern.”

She took a deep breath glancing at the teenagers staring at her and Harry with wide eyes and gaping, John in no better condition, while Peter - who no one was paying any attention to at the moment - stood out of Harry’s sight, concealed by John, observing the scene with careful scrutiny.

“Then there’s the scar on his back, going diagonally from Harry’s left shoulder to the right hip. By all standards, you should be _paralyzed_ ,” Melissa looked at Harry who snorted and shook his head. “Your right knee-cap seems to be _smashed_ so you shouldn’t even be _walking_ , and I won’t even _imagine_ how you got that scar on your stomach!”

“Two foot pole, six centimeters in diameter thrown at me by a vampire,” Harry supplied. “Went clean through,” he added as an afterthought, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he thought about it.

“How are you still _alive_?” Melissa asked incredulously and Harry shrugged only to wince and grunt.

“Magic, I guess,” he muttered, careful as not to shrug his shoulders again. “And I’ve had help _obviously_.”

“Derek survived that too!” Stiles defended, the shocked stares turning to him while Derek snorted and rolled his eyes.

“I’m a werewolf, Stiles,” Derek drawled, lips tilting up in slight amusement and Stiles blushed brightly, ducking his head and scratching the back of it with his right hand.

“That’s not what we should be worrying about now,” Harry spoke up, gaze focusing on Derek, even though it was quite obvious the wizard was fighting against unconsciousness. “What we should be thinking about is how to handle Kate.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Melissa raised her right hand, shaking her head avidly. “What _you_ should do is _sleep_. You’ve lost a lot of blood and you’re injured. _You_ will sleep. _We_ will think.”

“Melissa-”

“I don’t care if you fought…” Melissa pursed her lips as she flailed trying to think of something, “King _Kong_ with half an arm and a chopped of _leg_ and survived, you will _not_ move out of that bed until I damn well say so!”

No one, not even _Peter_ could conceal the shock at Melissa’s words. When she realized what she had said, Melissa blushed although she crossed her arms over her chest and raised her head proudly, the others stifling laughter.

“I don’t think that’s physically possible,” Harry answered, utterly stunned.

“Good!” Melissa snapped, flailing her hands before slapping her thighs. “You just sit here and _heal_ and we’ll - we’ll take care of everything else.” She calmed down and Harry nodded slowly.

“Alright,” he agreed, surprising John who didn’t even bother to hide it. “I guess though, that you have an idea what Kate might be after?” he looked at Derek while Melissa rolled her eyes and shook her head, muttering an angry ‘I quit’ under her breath.

“She can’t control the shift,” Derek answered, unconsciously placing his right hand on Harry’s left ankle giving it a small squeeze through the blanket. “We assume she wanted me for the talisman my family used to teach control.”

“But that’s just an object,” Harry frowned thoughtfully, raising his right hand to rub his chin with his index finger. “The trick is in finding an anchor.”

“Kate doesn’t know that, and our guess is that she’s desperate,” Scott spoke up, Harry’s gaze shifting to him. “This might be our chance to catch her.”

“We’d need to plan this carefully though,” Stiles agreed with his best friend. “She was a slippery bitch when she _wasn’t_ a were- _jaguar_.” He ignored his dad’s exasperated exclamation and Melissa’s eye-roll, focusing on Harry. “What do you suggest?”

Harry hummed and narrowed his eyes, before he raised his right hand and rubbed them. “I’m sorry, the drugs are making me a bit slow,” he sighed and hit his head back against the pillow. “Usually, when I’d need to lure someone out, I’d use a bait. Set up a trap, lure the target in and in most cases just kill them on the spot.”

At the shocked expressions Harry raised an eyebrow with a dull stare. “What?” he muttered. “A _dead_ problem is no longer a problem.”

“Now, if _I_ said that, I’d end up _shot_.”

Complete and utter silence settled over the room and everyone turned to Peter, with John taking a step to the side. Having forgotten about the werewolf’s presence in the room, everyone was shocked by his exclamation, none of them noticing the slight hitch in Harry’s heartbeat.

The wizard sat up slowly, suddenly very awake, emerald eyes wide as he stared at the werewolf in the doorway, with Peter raising an eyebrow, looking utterly uninterested.

“Peter?” Harry broke the silence and all of a sudden everyone became aware of the steady increase in the beats of Harry’s heart. Peter squinted at the wizard, not a _trace_ of recognition _anywhere_ in his hard stare.

“Harry, calm down!” Melissa snapped, running over to Harry who looked at her, blinking sluggishly as his breathing grew shallow and his eyes grew dull, what little color returned to his cheeks vanishing in a single heartbeat.

“Mel - I… h-he… I-I can’t b-breathe.” he slurred out, gasping wetly and grabbing at his chest with one hand and Melissa’s arm with the other.

“What is going on here?!” a doctor ran into the room, another nurse following him. “Everybody out!” the teens scampered out of the room, Derek grabbing Peter’s forearm and pulling him along. Sheriff walked out last, closing the door behind them, and the last thing they had seen was Melissa helping Harry lie down, the wizard wheezing with every strained breath he took.

A deafening silence settled over the group and Peter stumbled and looked at his nephew with wide eyes when Derek pushed him away from himself. “Just what the hell was all of that for, what is wrong with him?” Peter snapped.

“Nothing!” Derek answered, breathing deeply, trying to control the shift. His mind may remember everything he had learned in the past ten years, but his body was that of a teenager and it reacted differently than the body of a grown up. With everything that happened in the past hours, Derek’s self-control was slipping with the wolf answering the call of the moon, and it took a lot out of him not to shift and run off.

Having gathered enough control over himself for the time being, Derek turned to look at Stiles, Scott and John, all three of them looking towards the closed door of Harry’s room as though they wanted to run back in while Lydia had her arms wrapped around Kira, both of them shaking and Lydia squeezing her eyes tightly shut, her lips pressed in a thin line.

“We need to think of a way to get Kate,” Derek bit out, the other three nodding in agreement while Peter stared at the group of teens and one adult, trying to make sense of everything that was going on.

 _Obviously_ , there was something Scott avoided to tell him about the man he had just met, and by the look on this _Harry’s_ face, he _knew_ Peter. So why didn’t Peter know him?

“I hate to say this, but Harry was right,” John said, interrupting Peter’s trail of thoughts, and the sheriff looked at each of the teens before his gaze settled on Derek. “The only way to get rid of her for good is to kill her. Putting her in jail is out of the question, and I have no other ideas coming up.”

“But we need to lure her out,” Stiles spoke up, left arm wrapped around his waist and right fist hovering a small distance away from his lips, and he was hopping in his place, gaze straying towards the closed door every second or so. “And the only way to do that is to have Derek come to her.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Derek spoke up, shaking his head, making the others frown at him. “I have no doubt that she’ll come for me. What we need to do is make sure that you’re far enough for her not to be able to smell you, but close enough to act when the time is right.”

When silence answered his suggestion, Derek looked up and found the teens staring at him in slight astonishment. “What?” he bit out.

“Nothing!” Scott answered, waiving his hands. “We just assumed that you’d want to do this alone!”

“I’m not an idiot,” Derek muttered, right eyebrow twitching in annoyance.

“You’ll have to act as though you don’t remember anything,” Stiles warned, staring at Derek with a wary gaze. “Do you think you can do that?”

“I’ll have to,” Derek said.

“There’s a high chance she’s tracking you,” John spoke up, attracting everyone’s attention to himself. “Where is the talisman now?”

“In my family vault,” Derek answered without hesitation, casting a glare over his right shoulder at Peter when he huffed, finding his uncle rolling his eyes in utter annoyance. “Do you have anything to say?” Derek asked sarcastically, a slight growl lacing his words and Peter sneered at him, huffing and raising his hands in surrender.

“Do what you want,” he drawled dryly. “What _I_ want to know is who that man in the room is.”

“We don’t have time for that now,” Scott spoke up, not even sparing Peter a glance as he turned to the de-aged werewolf. “Derek, you’ll need to tell us where the vault is.”

“We’ll need blueprints of the whole area,” Stiles agreed.

“And we’ll have to be careful,” Lydia finally joined the conversation. “If my assumption is correct then she’s the one controlling the Berserkers, and without Harry there’s no way for us to defeat them.”

“Berserkers?” Peter pressed out in a tight voice, eyes wide with trepidation.

“Yeah, Harry made confetti out of one, so we know they can be killed, but not with anything we own,” Stiles answered, remembering the pile of bones they passed on their way back from La Iglesia.

Apparently, when you kill a Berserker, their body dissolves into dust leaving behind nothing but the armor of bones.

No one noticed the widening of Peter’s eyes and his lips parting in shock before he looked towards the closed door of Harry’s room, eyebrows narrowing as his mind filled with questions again.

“Can’t they be killed like all other people?” John asked, nose wrinkled and right corner of lips tilted up in a questioning sneer.

“They’re a bit tougher than regular people,” Stiles spoke almost carelessly, earning an incredulous stare from his dad. “We still have absolutely _no idea_ how Harry managed to kill the one who attacked him.”

“I can attest to that,” Derek added. “I spoke with Chris Argent about Berserkers. He said that it took three hunters and every single bullet they had to bring a _kid_ down. These are _complete_ Berserkers. Fully grown apex predators.” He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyebrows, and for a second it appeared as though the _old_ Derek was standing in front of them.

“Are they resistant to bombs?” John asked, his face scrunched up in obvious doubt that there was such a being absolutely _resistant_ to bullets.

“You’d have to get them to stand still for long enough to attach one on them,” Scott spoke, actually taking John’s suggestion into consideration. “They’re _extremely_ fast.”

“We’ll think of some…” the door behind them opened, letting Melissa, the doctor and the other nurse out, Melissa nodding at them with a small smile before they walked away and she came to stand to John’s right.

“We had to sedate him. If I had to take a wild guess, I’d say he had a panic attack,” she spoke making Stiles wince, remembering his own experiences, his shoulders tensing as he hunched them and bit into his bottom lip.

Lydia noticed it, ready to move forward, but to her - _and_ everyone else’s surprise, Derek, who stood closest to Stiles, raised his left hand and placed it on the back of Stiles’ neck in a reassuring gesture. Stiles gifted him with a small, grateful smile, the whole scene not going unnoticed by the whole group, with no one commenting on it, although the sheriff squinted at them, lips pursing and parting slightly in quiet wonderings.

“Anyway, he’s resting now,” Melissa sighed and rubbed her face with her hands before crossing her arms over her chest. “We should leave him alone and worry about other things.”

“I’m not exactly comfortable with that,” Derek said. “Harry killed a Berserker Kate controls. She undoubtedly knows that. And Harry is in no condition to protect himself if she comes after him to stop him from interfering with her plans.”

“So someone should stay with him just in case, right?” Stiles said, receiving nods of agreement from his friends.

“It would have to be someone who can actually _help_ him if Kate comes for him though,” Scott said, exchanging a glance with Derek and Stiles. “Which strikes out Lydia and Stiles.”

“I could stay with him,” Kira spoke up, straightening to her full height.

“We might need you with Kate,” Scott said and her face fell.

“I could stay.” Everyone turned around and looked at Peter who looked absolutely careless, gifting them with a mockery of an innocent smile, eyes wide and glimmering as he clasped his hands behind his back. “I have no desire to mingle with Berserkers. I could stay and protect your _Harry_.”

“Yeah, how about _no_ ,” Stiles blurted out, squinting at Peter in more than obvious distrust.

“Stiles…” John spoke up, voice slightly strained and Stiles looked at his dad with narrowed eyes.

“I am _not_ leaving Harry alone with _him_ ,” Stiles spoke darkly, snapping his right hand in Peter’s general direction.

“Now, now, Stiles,” Peter drawled, amused although no one could understand _why_ , smirking at the brown haired teen. “What could I _possibly_ to do Mr. _A. D. Prewitt_ while in a hospital?”

“Try to force him into telling you something he may not be ready to tell?” Stiles bit out approaching Peter and standing right in front of him.

“Stiles!” John hissed while the others prepared to pull Stiles back at any moment.

“Now _why_ would I want to do that? I have absolutely _nothing_ with Mr. _Harry_ ,” Peter murmured, lips hardly parting as he spoke, and he crossed the small distance between himself and Stiles, standing practically nose to nose. “Unless this has something to do with the foolish notion that I have _dated_ him before and that my memories were locked away by my dear _sister._ ”

“Well if you weren’t the raving _lunatic_ that you are, _maybe_ she wouldn’t have-”

“ _Stiles!_ ” John snapped and pulled Stiles back when it appeared Stiles would grab Peter, the teen’s fingers twitching as though he wanted to _strangle_ the thirty-five year old werewolf. “We have other things to worry about,” John pressed out through his teeth, actually having to _restrain_ Stiles by wrapping his arms around his son when Peter smirked at him daringly.

“I’ll stay with him,” Lydia spoke up and everyone turned to look at her. The banshee was staring at Peter with a hard stare, chin up, shoulders squared and hands fisted by her sides. “I’ll stay with him and Harry.”

“There. Handled.” John said to Stiles before slowly letting go of him and Stiles huffed.

“And my shift will soon start, so I’ll be here too,” Melissa stated.

“Good, then we can go,” Scott said, casting Peter a warning glance while the others gathered around him, Stiles coming to stand between Scott and Derek, both of them inching closer to the human teen. “We have to come up with a plan how to handle Kate and the Berserkers.”

“Call us if there’s any change with Harry,” John said to Melissa who gifted him with a small smile and nodded.

“Sure,” she said. Scott came over to give his mom a warm hug before he turned to look at Lydia.

“Have your phone close at all times,” he said to the banshee. “We might need your advice along the way.”

“Will do,” Lydia answered and nodded minutely, and the others left down the hallway, Lydia and Peter following them with their gazes until the door closed behind them.

“So!” Peter clapped his hands and turned to look at Lydia.

“Not a chance,” she bit out and Peter’s smile fell.

“Now, now, dear…”

“No!” Lydia sang, giving Peter a tight-lip smile before she marched over to the door to Harry’s room, opened it briskly and walked in, leaving Peter no other choice but to follow.

Peter huffed and rolled his eyes, walking into the room and closing the door behind them. He found Lydia already sitting in a chair to the right of the bed, arms crossed over her chest and gaze focused on Harry’s still body.

The wizard was asleep again, but unlike before there was a thin line between his eyebrows, appearing tormented even in his sleep. His hands were fisted loosely on his stomach, his chest rising and falling with every wheezing breath he took. His skin was yet again pale, and the dark smudges under his eyes the size of a grown man’s thumb-print seemed more pronounced than before.

Casting a glance at Lydia Peter walked over to the bed, his arms lax by his sides, although there was a slight tension to his shoulders. Lydia’s gaze strayed to Peter when he placed his hands on the metal bars to Harry’s left, and Peter looked at the wizard with a narrow-eyed stare.

Observing him carefully, Lydia tried to read Peter, read his expression and stance only to come up with nothing. There was nothing about Peter that betrayed anything but curiosity, nothing even _remotely_ showing _any_ sign of familiarity or recognition, and Lydia’s heart clenched as she diverted her gaze to Harry, letting go of a long breath.

“I remember.” Lydia’s eyes widened and she looked at Peter who kept staring with a thoughtful stare at Harry. “I remember sheriff Stilinski coming over to my house to ask me about a man I was supposedly dating ten years ago.”  Lydia’s lips parted slightly as Peter spoke in a somewhat adenoidal voice. “He _insisted_ that I knew what happened to this man even though I’ve never heard of him. Deputy _Harry Potter,_ if I’m not wrong,” Peter recalled, his frown darkening as he rowed through his memories, eyes slipping closed. “I _know_ for _certain_ that I’ve never met him before.”

Lydia forced down a swallow when something in her shifted as Peter braced on his hands, the bed creaking under the added weight. He kept staring at Harry as though the solution to this riddle was written on Harry’s forehead.

“But _why_ then,” Peter pressed out through his teeth, whispers of frustration coloring his voice, and Lydia wasn’t so sure Peter was actually talking to her anymore. It appeared as though the werewolf was thinking aloud, his knuckles going white with the strength of his grip on the metal bar. “Why is his scent so _familiar_?” he hissed, shifting most of his weight on his hands and left leg, right leg bending at the knee.

“His scent?” Lydia murmured and Peter looked at her, his eyes widening minutely as though he just then remembered that she was there.

“Yes,” his head twitched to the left as he answered. “I feel as though I’ve scented him somewhere before, although I can’t define his scent.”

Lydia looked back at Harry, her hands fisting in her lap. She wanted to tell him - _oh_ , how she wanted to tell him _everything_ if for no other reason than to _piss him off_ , and yet something held her back. It was Harry’s story to tell, if he would ever _want_ to share it with Peter.

But Harry seemed to still _care_ about the werewolf. He seemed to still _love him_ if what little Lydia has seen of Harry’s reactions to everything connected to Peter can be taken as evidence. And she couldn’t even _imagine_ the pain Harry must have felt when he thought Peter was dead.

But should she mix in?

“Lydia.” Her head snapped up in surprise when Peter hissed her name, her eyes widening a bit before she cleared her throat and looked at Harry. “What do you know?” Peter asked, staring at her with a frown of suspicion, squinting at the banshee as though he could read the truth in her eyes.

“Everything,” she breathed out and Peter’s jaw shifted as he clenched his teeth. “But you won’t get anything from me.” She looked at him with a cold, unreadable stare. “If you want to find out _anything_ you’ll have to talk to Scott and Derek.”

Peter’s lips pursed as he ran his tongue over his top front teeth, staring hard at the banshee. “Fine,” he bit out, pushing away from the bed and turning his back on Lydia. He grabbed the spare chair from beneath the indoor window and carried it over to the bed, placing it across from the banshee and taking a seat in it.

He crossed his arms and legs and looked at Harry’s still form, eyebrows narrowing in thoughtful scrutiny. He _would_ find out what all of this was about. He could be patient. But he _would_ get to the bottom of this.

There was not a single doubt in him that everything would be revealed soon, and _then_ he would know why his wolf started howling and raging the moment he laid eyes on Harry.

Then he would know why his wolf seemed to recognize this _Harry Potter_ as _mate_.

**cut**

**Poor Harry. He just keeps getting into trouble doesn’t he?**

**And what will Peter do? Will Kate finally meet her end?**

**Find out in the next chapter, ‘Berserk’.**


	8. Berserk

**Happy holidays and a blessed New Year, peeps!!**

**Thank you all for the support you’ve shown me in 2014, thank you for being beautiful people, and thank you for giving me the strength to go on when I thought I should just give up on everything.**

**You are my inspiration, my support, my faceless friends, my extended family.**

**I wish all of you all the best, may you lack nothing, may you find everything you desire, may luck finally fall into your hands, and my your life be filled with love and acceptance.**

**As usual I would like to thank Fitz-Leo for being a wonderful human being and suffering my horrid writing while editing every new chapter before I post it!**

**I wish you every single blessing in the world, and I hope you’ll enjoy the new chapter!!**

**All my love,  
Ms. Yuki**

**cut**

_And I’ve lost who I am,_   
_and I can’t understand_   
_why my heart is so broken_   
_rejecting your love_   
_without love, gone wrong_   
_lifeless words carry on._   
_But I know_   
_-all I know-_   
_is that the end’s beginning..._

_\- Trading Yesterday, ‘Shattered’_

**cut**

_Four years ago_

**cut**

A hissed curse passed blood splotched lips and shadowed, focused emerald eyes racked over the darkened warehouse as their owner crouched behind a big wooden crate, gloved, skilled hands taking the magazine from the stylized Colt .45, throwing it to the side before he replaced it with a new one.

He swallowed thickly before he crouched lower, adjusting his grip on the gun, arms straight and tense as he lowered them between his parted thighs and straightened his back, aligning it with the hard surface of the crate giving him a semblance of security at the moment.

His eyes slid closed as he slowed his breathing, taking measured gulps of air and listening to the slightest sign of movement. The leather of his gloves whined under strain as he slowly unlocked the safety of his gun and breathed out, his nose twitching as an overly _animalistic_ scent tickled his nostrils.

A sneer twitched on his face and he shifted his stance, peaking behind the crate before he moved out, running towards the metal wall on the other side. Not even a second later spells rained over him, and he ducked and rolled behind the metal wall, correcting his stance before he rounded it, quickly taking aim and taking down two masked assailants easily before he ducked behind the wall again, avoiding an Avada Kedavra for less than a hair.

He took a breath through his nose, holding it to calm his quickly beating heart, breathing out as he checked his gun. He didn’t need it to jam like last time. The mission was over. The only thing he needed to do now was get the hell out of there. Unfortunately that proved to be difficult.

He was starting to think that the Organization was trying to get rid of him since they failed to tell him the exact amount of people he’d be facing. _Again_. It happened several times now, and up until the last mission he’d been lucky, escaping only with a broken collar bone. It still hurt like fuck, even after three weeks, but damn it, it was an inconvenience and it was getting in the way of him performing his mission.

He glanced around, his gaze falling on the exit, and he could practically _see_ his trusty _Ducati Diavel_ hidden from sight deeper in the forest waiting to take him out of here. But first he had to reach it, and he _really_ didn’t want to end up shot dead before getting to the exit gates.

Licking his lips and tasting the drying blood, he raised his left hand and rubbed them clean, sniffing minutely, teeth pressing tightly together and jaw shifting as he flattened his back with the metal wall and slowly climbed from the crouch to a straight up stance, finger on the trigger as he prepared to finish this.

Mentally listing what he needed to do, things that were engraved into his DNA by now, he closed his eyes for a long second and then moved.

The other side didn’t know what hit them.

Three fell before the others could utter a single curse, and he ran for the exit, ducking when one of the remaining four fired a curse at him. He ducked behind a small crate not even 15 meters away from the exit, shot down two more only to curse when, as he slid behind the crate, he bumped his right shoulder against the hard wood, aggravating his still healing collar bone.

He just _knew_ it was healing wrong, but just like all the other injuries, it would go untreated. Pushing the pain into the back of his mind, he dove out of hiding, taking down one of the last remaining idiots trying to kill him.

“Fuck!” he snapped when he failed to kill the last one, only wounding his assailant’s leg. Deeming it enough, he turned on his heel and ran for the door. The first gust of fresh air tickled his nose, but just before he stepped out of the warehouse something grabbed the collar of his leather jacket, and the next thing he knew he was flying, meeting a metal wall and falling to the ground in a pile of pain and dizziness.

He struggled to breathe through the pain pulsating from his right shoulder, raising his head and shaking it in an attempt to stop the world from spinning, and that overwhelming scent almost made him puke.

Locating his gun not even a meter away from him, he snatched it into his hand and raised his head, only to lose his breath. His eyes widened and his lips parted in shock, his heart clenching and guts filling with lead at the sight of what attacked him from behind.

It was a huge man wearing an armor of bones, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the scull of a ram if the horns were anything to go by.

“Oh, fuck…” he breathed out, slowly climbing to his feet, stumbling when the pain of his shoulder flashed through his body, blinding him for a second. The clicking of claws as the new adversary clenched hands into fists sent a shiver down his spine, and he licked his lips, tasting blood again.

‘ _Where did they get their hands on a bloody Berserker?_ ’ he thought incredulously as he tried to think of a way to get out of there before he ended up a bloody splat on the floor.

His thoughts were cut short when the monster facing him roared in pure, white rage, his heart beating just a bit faster. “Come on!” he snapped waving the monster forward and the Berserker rushed at him.

Quickly going over every single battle technique he had ever practiced, he danced out of the way of the Berserker’s claws, raising his gun with a grunt and shooting a bullet in the monster’s back, gasping when it did nothing to slow the thing down, serving only to enrage it further.

“Fuck!” The swear escaped his lips in a pained shout when the thing ducked quicker than should be possible for something of that height and build, grabbing his right ankle and slamming him frontally into the nearest crate.

He had hardly enough time to cross his arms over his head to shield himself from the impact, and not enough time at all to contemplate the sheer brute strength of this monster, because in the next moment he found himself on his back, air kicked out of his lungs before a scream of pain tore out of his throat when a fist clad in bones met his right knee in a bone shattering impact.

He opened his eyes, squinting through the blinding pain, adrenalin pumping through his veins like it hasn’t in a long while, and as the Berserker swung his right fist, the long bone claw he would forever remember aimed for his heart, he pushed himself up, catching the swinging fist, and ignoring the pain in his leg he flipped himself onto the Berserker’s back, straddling the massive shoulders.

He grabbed one of the horns of the scull and aimed his gun at the bald head, quickly checking if the safety was off. “See you in hell,” he spat out in a croaky voice and fired the gun.

The monster roared and he cursed as it bucked under him, only to scream in pain not a second later when the thing turned to dust beneath him and he landed on his broken knee, rolling to the side over the bones scattering on the floor.

Deafening silence settled over the warehouse as he tried to get up, his shoulder and knee sending surges of pain over his body and blinding him. Wheezing breathes passed his lips, mingling with choked up moans of pain, and he rolled to his left, slowly pushing himself up. He groaned as he put the gun in the holster under his jacket, and cradling his right arm to his chest he braced himself on his left hand and knee, unable to bend his right leg.

Somehow he managed to get up, limping over to the exit, and without another glance he made his way into the forest surrounding the warehouse. _Someone_ better have an explanation how these motherfuckers got their hands on a Berserker. Otherwise there would be hell to pay.

**cut**

_Present_

**cut**

“Take it easy,” Lydia whispered and gave a gentle squeeze to Harry’s right hand as he groaned before emerald eyes opened to squint at her despite the light in the room being dimmed.

“Lydia?” Harry mumbled, seemingly confused as to where he was. The unfocused gaze darted around before settling on Lydia, and he huffed as his head hit the pillow, struggling to gift the young banshee with a small smile. “Hey,” he whispered and Lydia couldn’t stop her lips from tilting up.

“Hey,” she answered, pleased when Harry gave her hand a surprisingly strong, albeit short squeeze. “You had a nightmare.”

Harry took a deep breath and nodded, eyes slipping closed and a wince flittering over his face as he shifted a bit. “Dreamt of my first meeting with a Berserker,” he answered, trying to conceal a wide yawn, and Lydia’s eyebrows furrowed in a frown.

“The others left a few hours ago,” she spoke to distract both Harry and herself. “They’re trying to come up with a plan to deal with Kate.” Harry nodded with a grunt, only to open his eyes and frown at Lydia a moment later.

“Shouldn’t you be with them then?” he asked and Lydia shook her head.

“I stayed behind in case Kate comes after you for killing one of her Berserkers.” As answer to her words Harry cocked an eyebrow and stilled.

“While I _do_ understand the reasoning behind you staying with me,” he spoke in a slightly adenoidal voice, still hoarse with sleep, “and even though you _are_ a banshee, I don’t see how exactly you could handle Kate or a Berserker.”

Lydia swallowed audibly and shifted in her place, her gaze darting around the room. She wasn’t offended by Harry’s reasoning _knowing_ that there would be nothing she could do against either Kate or a Berserker. But how to tell Harry that she wasn’t the only one who stayed behind?

“Lydia?” She looked up and found Harry smiling at her gently, although there was such sadness and pain in his eyes that it made her heart clench. “I know he’s here.” Her eyes widened momentarily while Harry tilted his head back, relaxing against the pillow, glassy eyes looking at the ceiling. “His scent changed,” he spoke in a hollow voice, swallowing thickly before he took a deep breath, “but now that I know it again, I can smell him even though he isn’t in the room.”

A part of Lydia wondered how Harry could actually _smell_ Peter, but she didn’t dwell on it. For all she knew wizards and witches could have better senses than normal humans.

“He really doesn’t remember me, does he?” Even though it was a question, it felt more like a statement, and Lydia looked at Harry’s face, finding him with a sad upturn of lips, eyes focused on the ceiling.

“No,” she whispered anyway, giving Harry’s hand a gentle squeeze, “he doesn’t.” Harry snorted and shook his head, eyes slipping closed as he forced down a swallow, and even though his heartbeat quickened a bit, it was nothing like last time.

“Maybe its better this way,” he whispered mostly to himself and Lydia frowned. “This way he won’t remember me the way I was before. This way he can just continue living his life without-”

“Would it really be okay?” Lydia interrupted his quiet murmurings, not able to understand his reasoning despite her intelligence. “You have a chance to be with him again,” she whispered with a small confused scowl as Harry looked at her. “Maybe if he remembered he would _change-_ ”

“And maybe he would hate me for the rest of my life,” Harry interrupted her in a throaty, hoarse voice, wavering with suppressed emotions. “I would rather have him not remembering me than hating me, Lydia.”

“But _why_?” she asked, truly not understanding. If there was a possibility to _change_ Peter, to make him more human, to make him _good_ again, why would Harry be content with this?

“Because I’m not the man he would then remember,” Harry answered softly, a smile full of irony tilting his lips as he stared at her with eyes shadowed with sadness and self-loathing. “I’m not the man who he dated ten years ago. I’m not the man he fell in love with.”

“Neither is he,” she insisted, leaning forward and taking Harry’s hand between both of hers. “I have _no idea_ how he was when you were first here. The only Peter I know is this - this _maniacal murderer_ who killed his own niece in thirst for _revenge_.” Harry winced at those words, but there was no sense in sugarcoating anything. “Harry, if there is the _slightest_ chance for you to be happy, why wouldn’t you take it?”

Harry stared at her for a long moment, fighting back tears which wanted to trail down his pale cheeks, trembling as he struggled to suppress the mountain of emotions weighing down on his heart. “Because I can’t give him what he needs,” he breathed out, voice breaking under strain, and Lydia’s lips fell open. “Because two broken people can’t make anything right.”

Harry let go of a wavering breath followed by a breathless, quiet laugh as he blinked rapidly. “I mean… Now that my magic is free my body-” he stopped to take a deep breath and shook his head. “My body will heal eventually. My knee, my shoulder, my ribs… They will heal within another few months.”

Lydia’s eyes widened at the prospect of magic being so powerful to heal injuries as old as Harry’s, but before she could contemplate that any further, Harry continued speaking, his words weighing heavily on Lydia’s heart.

“But magic won’t remove the scars,” he looked at his right hand, gaze darkening at the net of scars covering his forearm. “It won’t erase everything I’ve done, and it won’t erase the years I’ve spent serving the Organization. It won’t bring back the time Peter and I’ve lost. It won’t bring back the Hales. And it won’t make Peter love me the way he did again.”

“So you think that…” Lydia spoke in complete wonder, trying to actually press the words out of her mouth over the huge pile of emotions in her throat. “You think you’re not _good enough_?” she asked, not really knowing how to put it differently.

Harry chuckled morosely, quietly, shaking his head. “I don’t _think_ I’m not good enough, my dear,” he murmured, looking at her with eyes full of certainty. “I _know_ I’m not good enough. After all,” he huffed, lips tilting up into a mockery of a smile, hands flopping lightly against his stomach, “who could ever love a scarred _monster_ with hundreds of demons haunting him and more skeletons in his closet than he knows how to deal with?”

Lydia forced down a swallow, trying, _honestly trying_ to understand Harry’s reasoning, but coming up with nothing. Sure, the scars weren’t pretty to look at, but they weren’t disgusting. They were proof that Harry survived, that he fought against everything evil and came out on top.

But the man couldn’t see it. He saw himself as a _monster_ , even though he didn’t _choose_ to do everything he did, but was forced into obeying people who enslaved him.

And in all honesty, Lydia didn’t know how to make Harry see it. She knew that Harry was not a _good man_ by definition. He took too many lives, did god knows how many horrible things, but he didn’t do it because he _wanted_ to. So how to show him that he deserved to be happy? How to show him that he deserves peace?

Unfortunately, Lydia couldn’t think of a way, and what was worse, she didn’t believe there was one either.

**cut**

“I don’t like this,” Stiles muttered into his chin when his dad entered the police car and started the engine. The teen was sitting in the front passenger seat, right leg bent and raised to his chest, heel planted firmly against the seat, and he was leaning against the door, left arm wrapped around his waist as he nibbled on his right thumb.

They drove a little ways down the street of Scott’s house and John parked the car in the shadow of a high bush and an old oak tree, turning out all the lights. The plan was for the two of them to wait there while Kira and Scott hid closer to Scott’s place.

Derek would be left alone in Scott’s house, waiting for Kate to find him. He had already gone to the old Hale house, making sure to go on foot so that there would be a trail Kate could follow. Derek and Scott had yet to catch Kate’s scent so she either hadn’t caught up to them yet or she found a way to conceal her scent, although since she was still struggling with control they doubted she could do that especially with the full moon looming over them ominously.

“This is the best we could come up with considering how much time we’ve had, son,” John spoke before he sighed and relaxed in his seat, squinting out into the darkness surrounding them. “And don’t worry. I’m sure everything will work out fine.” John turned to face Stiles with a small smile tilting his lips before he glanced at the back seat at the bag resting almost innocently just within reach.

“I don’t like the fact that Derek will be alone with Kate for _any_ amount of time,” Stiles blurted out quietly, making John frown thoughtfully before he sighed and hit his head back against the headrest of the car.

“Stiles, you think you could tell me what’s going on between you and Derek?” he asked and Stiles looked at him wide eyed, stilling completely, and even in the dark John could see the furious blush which covered Stiles’ face.

“Nothing!” he blurted out. “Nothing at all! Derek and I are just - just _friends_.” His raised leg fell on the floor and he ducked his head, fiddling with his fingers as his legs started to hop. “We’re just friends,” he muttered into his chin.

John cocked a doubtful eyebrow at Stiles, his right hand landing on Stiles’ left knee to stop the hopping, and the teen looked at him from under messy bangs, cinnamon eyes dilated and full lips slightly parted. “Son, how about you for once stop _lying_ to _both_ of us, and tell me what’s going on between you and Derek, because back at the hospital you calmed down just from Derek _touching_ you.”

Stiles gulped, tongue darting out to wet his lips before he chewed on the bottom one, looking anywhere but at his dad. “I… I don’t know,” he answered in a tight, quiet voice. “I don’t know when it started but I… I have these _feelings_ for Derek.”

“Feelings?” John deadpanned and Stiles nodded mutely, whole body wrecked with minute shivers.

“I guess…” The teen hesitated, eyebrows narrowing as he struggled to find the right words. “I guess it all started the summer after the Alpha Pack showed up.”

“You mean the whole summer when you were hardly if ever home and I _know_ you weren’t with Scott all the time?” John recalled and Stiles nodded hurriedly.

“I was mostly with Derek,” he admitted. “Either with him or researching the Alpha Pack for him. He needed help and we were spending an awful lot of time together. I guess… I guess I really started _trusting_ him then. He was already changing for better. Letting go of the guilt and-” he stopped to swallow. “I guess I started _noticing_ him then.”

John took a deep breath an held it, rolling around the fact that his underage son might be in love with a twenty-seven year old former-murder-suspect werewolf. Compared to everything they’ve lived through in just the past two months? Now, _that_ didn’t sound so bad.

Although John didn’t exactly like _that_ either.

“You don’t have to worry about it, dad.” John frowned at his son, at the tone of utter resignation in Stiles’ voice. “Derek isn’t even _bi_ let alone _gay_ , and he’d never want to date me either way. Werewolves mate for life. They have Mates they find by scent when their Mate comes of age. Derek won’t even _look_ at me that way. He’d _never_ want me.”

“Excuse me, but what is _that_ supposed to mean,” John stressed out annoyed, bracing his left forearm on the wheel and the right against the backrest of his seat. “How do you mean that Derek would never want you? You’re a good kid, with a _great_ head on your shoulders when you actually work towards something specific, you’re intelligent, smart, quick on your feet and you’re quite handsome if I do say so myself. You’re a full package, son, and I don’t see why someone wouldn’t want to be with you.”

“Well, people aren’t exactly standing in line to _be with me_ , dad!” Stiles exclaimed angrily, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his head away from John who stared at him for a moment before he sighed and glanced out of the front window before looking at Stiles again.

“That’s because all they can see right now is your hyperactivity and lack of concentration, son, and I _do think_ that the fact that you doing hardly _anything_ but _running with_ _wolves_ , and solving supernatural mysteries has to do something with you not having a girlfriend _or_ a boyfriend right now,” John spoke in one breath, each word dripping with sarcasm, and Stiles couldn’t suppress the small chuckle of amusement.

“Yeah,” he whispered, tugging on a lose seam on the right sleeve of his hoodie. John stared at Stiles speechless for a moment, and then he took a deep breath, shook his head, and took a hold of Stiles’ left shoulder, tugging the teen over until John wrapped his arms around Stiles.

“I’m not saying this as your dad, Stiles,” he murmured against Stiles’ head before pressing a lingering kiss into the soft, messy, brown tresses. “ _Anyone_ would be lucky to have you,” he spoke in a whisper. “I know because _I_ am.” They parted and Stiles looked at John, the sheriff cupping his son’s cheeks within callused hands, gifting him with a loving, fatherly smile. “And Derek would be a fool not to see that, and since he doesn’t strike me as a fool, I’m pretty sure that he _does_.”

Stiles snorted and shook his head, although he wasn’t as tense as before and he and John sat back in their separate seats, both breathing somewhat lighter. “He’s not gay, dad. You don’t have to worry about me dating an older man.”

John hummed and shrugged his shoulders. “As long as you know that I won’t shoot your significant other if you _do_ end up dating someone older for as long as they make you happy and keep you safe, I’m fine with anything…” John stopped as though he was really considering his next words. “Although, _please_ don’t date someone that would ever want to kill us, and stay away from any Nogitsunes from now on, okay?”

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh, and John’s lips tilted up - eyes filling with warmth - for it has been quite a while since he had heard his son laugh.

“So it would be okay if I dated someone like Harry?” Stiles blurted out, and in the darkness John couldn’t see the mischievous smirk tilting Stiles’ lips. In return, Stiles couldn’t exactly see John smirking either.

“What, are you _still_ in love with him?” he drawled in obvious amusement.

“Dad!” Stiles snapped, John having just proved that Stiles got his sarcastic nature from him.  John laughed, head thrown back while Stiles ducked his head blushing. But let no one say that Stiles couldn’t get over his embarrassment after being beaten in his own game.

“And _no_. I’m not in love with Harry nor would I ever date him. I don’t think even if… I don’t know, _Superman_ appeared in front of Harry proclaiming his undying love that Harry would see past his love for Peter, even though I _still_ can’t understand _why_ ,” Stiles grumbled under his breath, _seriously_ unable to comprehend Harry’s strong feelings for the former crazed alpha after all these years.

“Stiles,” John started only to stop and sigh, carefully choosing his words. “What Harry had with Peter… it was unlike _anything_ I have ever seen in anyone. When Harry first came to Beacon Hills, while he was _nothing_ like he is today, Harry was still in a way tense and very careful. I thought it had something to do with his time as an agent so I didn’t ask. While he was able to relax around your mom, you and me, and a few other people from the Station, Harry showed neither will nor effort of making any new friends. If he wasn’t over at our house or out having drinks with the guys from work, he was locked in his apartment reading _books_ or watching TV.”

John took a deep breath and hit his head against the backrest, tongue peaking out to wet dry lips. “I noticed the change in him immediately which was one of the reasons I started thinking that he had found someone. He laughed easier, his smiles were more honest; his shoulders weren’t as tense as usual.” John tilted his head to the side to look at Stiles who was staring at him with slightly parted lips, listening avidly to every word leaving John’s lips.

“When he started dating Peter, Harry had started to _heal_. He started to let go of whatever happened to him in his past. He started to _live_. And seeing him _now_ …” John shook his head with a disbelieving expression. “Seeing him so _broken_ and weighed down by whatever _happened_ to him in the past ten years, it - it breaks my heart. Believe me, son, if I knew of any way to help Harry and Peter go back to where they were ten years ago, I would do it in a _second_.”

John looked at Stiles, and the teen could see the sincerity of John’s feelings in those pale blue eyes. “If there’s _anyone_ who deserves to be happy in this world it’s Harry.”

Stiles took a deep breath and looked away from his dad, but before he could say anything he tensed up and gasped. John noticed it immediately, but before he could say anything Stiles grabbed him and pulled him down. “It’s Kate,” Stiles pressed out as quietly as he could, digging through his pockets for his phone, sending a message to Scott.

Not a minute later, the screen of Stiles’ phone lit up, signaling an incoming text, and he titled the phone towards his dad so they could read it together.

_She’s in the house. Move on my mark._

The father and son exchanged a glance and slowly sat up, breathing out at the same time and relaxing in their seats. “That woman surely works fast,” John spoke in a hoarse voice and Stiles huffed and nodded, quickly tying his seatbelt.

“We’ll have to be faster,” he muttered under his breath while John copied his actions, starting the car although he didn’t turn on the lights.

“We will be.”

**cut**

Derek swallowed audibly sitting on Scott’s bed with hunched shoulders, doing his best not to smell the remaining traces of blood in the air or look at the wall where there used to be a shelf. They cleaned it all up quickly when they got to Scott’s house, tossing the broken shelf into the garage and pushing the books under Scott’s bed.

There was not a single trace of what had happened in the room sans the almost nonexistent scent of blood, and Derek was certain it was only in his head. He heard the front door open and lock, and he had to use every single piece of self-control he honestly didn’t know he had as not to growl and allow his feelings to show in any way.

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, clasping his hands between his knees, rolling the whole plan around in his head. Lure Kate to the vault, make sure she finds out Scott and Kira are there so that the Berserker would come out. Scott and John would then enter the scene and blow up the Berserker with the bomb John had acquired from some place or another.

No one asked and no one wanted to. They were just grateful to the sheriff for thinking clearly and ahead.

“Hey handsome,” a sly voice broke Derek’s thoughts and he looked up, honestly surprised by Kate’s arrival since he didn’t hear her approach.

“Kate?” he choked out, not needing to act this. His memories of her from ten years ago were still fresh, and the sight of her aged like this really brought a lot of things into perspective.

Her lips tilted into a small, coy smile as she approached him, hips swaying in a way that would have once made him want her more than anything in the world. Back then when he didn’t know she was a murdering psychopath. Back then when he trusted her. Back then when he _loved_ her.

“It’s been a while, Derek,” she spoke, tone remorseful, and it took every single piece of Derek’s self-control and _will_ , to suppress the emotions bubbling up in his heart from showing in his scent, stance, face and eyes, sticking to showing nothing but confusion.

“Kate, where have you been?” he whispered, voice wavering with effort, and he glanced around the room, swallowing thickly. “I don’t know what’s going on-”

“Shhhhh…” she hushed him, quickly moving forward, her right index finger covering Derek’s lips as her left hand wrapped around a strong forearm. She stood so close to Derek that her scent overwhelmed him tickling his nostrils and making him want to sneeze.

She smelled of a large cat, and if there was even a _speck_ of doubt in Derek - which there wasn’t - that she had changed it disappeared with that one, simple fact.

Kate looked deep in Derek’s eyes, lips tilting up into a mockery of a loving smile, and she cupped his right cheek in her hand, caressing it with her thumb. “I missed you, Derek,” she whispered in a tight voice, and Derek felt bile rise in his throat.

“What happened to you?” he murmured, glance darting all over her face. “You - you smell _different_ ,” his nose wrinkled, unable to handle the _stench_ anymore, and Kate moved back a bit, expression morphing into one of hurt and sadness, and it took Derek a moment to remember that he was supposed to trust her, that in his current form he was still supposed to _love_ her. “Kate…”

She took a step back when Derek reached for her, hands hovering in the air between them, and she ducked her head to the side, swallowing audibly as her hands fell and fisted by her sides. “You can smell it,” she pressed out through her teeth, sounding hateful and bitter, “I was… I was _bitten_.”

“By who?!” Derek cried out, _hoping_ he sounded frightful and concerned, and Kate bit into her bottom lip, a shiver wrecking her body as her long hair fell around her face like a veil.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her waist, hands fisting in the sleeves of her jacket as she took another step back. “It was dark,” her voice broke and she pulled in on herself, but the only thing Derek could feel was despise as he truly saw for the first time just how great of an actress Kate is. “I - I couldn’t see anything!” she whimpered, shoulders hunching. “And then there was _pain_ and - and I couldn’t…”

“Kate!” Derek reminded himself quickly to act accordingly, and he moved forward, wrapping his arms around her, discreetly holding his breath. “Kate, it’s alright. It’s okay,” he comforted her, although with every word that passed his lips the pile of _acid_ in his throat grew bigger. “Whatever it is we can handle it. We’ll take care of it,” he spoke comfortingly, resisting the need to barf.

She raised her head, looking at him with disbelief in her eyes, lips tilting up into a small, hesitant smile. “You don’t - you don’t hate me?” she whispered brokenly.

“No!” he shook his head, before he huffed and looked around, tears gathering in his eyes because of her putrid _stench_ , although it all worked in his favor, enhancing his act. “I - I don’t know what’s going on, Kate,” he spoke in a strained voice, hardly above a whisper. “I don’t know who the guys who took me are,” he looked into her eyes, seeing false pity in them. “I went - I went to my house, Kate,” his voice broke for real this time. “I don’t - I don’t know where my family is or - or what _happened_ to them, and now - now _you’ve_ changed and nothing makes sense anymore-”

“Your family is gone?” she whispered, eyes wide, and Derek resisted the need to move away from her, because her smell had just grown stronger.

“Kate, what is going on?” he whispered, tears stinging his eyes as he fought against the growing need to throw up.

“I don’t know, baby,” she whispered, cupping his face within her hands and kissing him quickly, and Derek -- in all honesty -- didn’t know what stopped him from puking. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.” She rested her forehead on his, combing her fingers through his hair and nuzzling her nose against Derek’s. “I’ll help you find your family, but I need you to do something for me first.”

She moved back a little as Derek nodded and she gifted him with a smile Derek had once considered beautiful. “You remember the talisman you’ve told me about? The one your family used to teach control?”

“Yeah,” he pressed out, hardly able to stand her disgusting smell anymore. If they didn’t get out of the house soon he would certainly lose whatever he had in his stomach. “Yeah, I remember. It’s in my family vault.”

“I need it, Derek,” she spoke so convincingly that Derek was certain he would have believed her if his memories weren’t unlocked by Harry. “The full moon is here and I’m losing control. I can’t help you if I lose it.”

“I…” Derek started but had to stop, his throat closing up as her smell grew stronger again, her eyes looking into his imploringly, the seductress coming out in full. “I can’t let you into the vault, Kate,” he spoke tightly, taking a step back from her and watching her expression turn into one of hurt betrayal. “I promised to my mom, Kate. I promised. Only family can enter that vault.”

“Derek, _please_ ,” she whimpered, grabbing a hold of his elbows as she looked in Derek’s eyes. “ _Please_ , I don’t want to hurt someone! I don’t want to hurt _you_!” she cried out, tears filling her eyes, and Derek was certain that he had never hated her more than he did in that moment.

“Kate-”

“ _Please_ ,” she begged, and a part of Derek actually felt pleasure at seeing her like this. “Please. I need your help!” she moved back a little, although she still didn’t let go of Derek. “Don’t you - don’t you want to help me?” her voice wavered. “Don’t you love me?”

Derek’s guts clenched with hate and despise at the sight of tears trailing down her cheeks. “I do,” he pressed out, for the first time worrying that his act was slipping when his voice came out strained, but Kate either didn’t notice or Derek was just that convincing, because she let go of a long, wavering breath, lips tilting up in relief.

“Then you’ll help me, right?” she asked hopefully, eyes filling with something Derek couldn’t quite describe, and for the first time Derek actually thought that there was a part of this act that was actually honest.

“Yeah,” he answered weakly, “I’ll help you.”

“Oh god,” Kate breathed out and surged forward, slamming her lips against Derek’s in a kiss which once would have ignited something within Derek’s heart, but now made his stomach fill with lead. “Thank you, baby,” she spoke excitedly, rubbing his chest with her hands. “We need to go. The full moon will be up soon.”

“Sure,” Derek nodded hurriedly.

“Derek!” Scott’s panic filled voice reached them just as Kate turned towards the door, and she gasped, jumping backwards and wrapping her left hand around Derek’s right wrist in a bruising grip.

“We need to get out of here!” she whispered hurriedly and Derek turned in his place.

“Window!” he hissed, took a hold of her hand and pulled her towards the bed. They climbed it quickly hearing Scott’s and Kira’s hurried footsteps as Derek opened the window and jumped out, landing on the hard ground without so much as a grunt.

He looked up and saw Kate hesitate for a second, and he heard Scott’s and Kira’s gasps of surprise before Kate landed beside him with all the grace of a cat.

“Let’s go!” she grabbed his hand again and they ran together with Derek forcing himself not to look back to see if Scott and Kira were at the window.

The plan was at foot. He could only hope nothing would go wrong.

**cut**

Scott took a deep breath as he looked at Kira finding her already raising Scott’s phone to her ear.

“They’re on their way,” she spoke into the speaker, eyes locked with Scott’s, and the young alpha heard Stiles answer.

 _“They just ran past us. We’re moving.”_ Scott nodded at Kira and she shifted her weight, tongue darting out to wet her lips.

“We’re right behind you,” she answered and ended the call, throwing the phone back to Scott who put it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Let’s go. We can’t stay too far behind,” Scott said and Kira nodded hurriedly, the two jumping out of the window and running after Derek and Kate.

**cut**

Silence reigned over the small hospital room where Lydia dozed in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, her jacket resting over her lap while Harry slept in his bed, the heart monitor beeping slowly, steadily and the breathing machine keeping Harry’s breathing measured, helping him along due to his bruised ribs.

Braced against the doorframe, strong arms crossed over a broad chest and right leg crossing the left was Peter, stormy light blue eyes focused on the sleeping form of the wizard. He had been observing Harry for a good hour now, wrecking his brain trying to connect the dots eluding him almost _artfully_.

Each time he would get a feeling he was finally achieving something he would lose it without fail, his frustrations rising with each passing moment. He couldn’t help but think that _maybe_ the others were right. Maybe his dear, deceased sister _had_ locked his memories of this _Harry_ away, but _why_? Why would she do that?

And just which part of his life did she lock away. Talia was a skilled, very powerful alpha. Peter knew that very well. He had seen her work, and he _knew_ that Talia Hale was possibly the strongest alpha the Hale Pack had ever had.

She was a dedicated woman who knew what she wanted for her pack, who knew how to achieve it and who had kept her pack safe and sound for many years. She was also extremely protective of her own, and she wasn’t above erasing someone’s memories if she believed that it would save them.

But none of that made Peter feel any better about this whole situation. None of it made sense, and he was honestly _tired_ of things not making sense.

He had lost his pack, _burned_ because of an insane hunter, spent _years_ as a vegetable in a hospital healing slowly, the pain meticulously eating at his sanity until it ate it away. He had gone insane in his thirst for vengeance, ending the life of his niece and almost destroying what little family he had left.

Peter was not a good man. He knew that, _everybody_ knew that, so there was no sense in denying it. Like he said to Derek once, Peter is a creature of habit, and habits are hard to shake off.

But despite his aloofness, despite his snark and irony and cynical nature, he _did care._ He cared for Derek. He cared for Cora even though she chose to leave Beacon Hills forever. He cared for this pack of ragtag teens, each more trouble than they’re worth, in his own way.

In his insanity he almost destroyed everything. Someone else may have been torn by guilt, and while Peter _did_ feel guilty on many accounts, he decided the moment he was resurrected not to dwell on it. Wallowing in self-pity and guilt wouldn’t bring them anywhere. It wouldn’t bring his family back. It wouldn’t bring Laura back. It wouldn’t change Scott back into a normal human.

What happened happened and there was no way for them to turn time back, and make everything right. They were where they were and the only thing they could do was work with what they had.

But right now Peter had nothing to work with. All he had was secrets and silence, and he liked none of it. He felt like a sailor lost on the raging sea in a ship he knew he was supposed to know how to handle but unable to remember any of it, the other crew-members running around, saving what could be saved unwilling to take a moment to tell him what to do.

Okay, maybe he was exaggerating. He never said he wasn’t a bit of a drama queen.

 _But_ , the fact stood that everyone seemed to know _everything_ , but they were too concerned with finally getting Kate off of their tales to actually tell Peter anything. Yeah, Lydia was there, but Peter couldn’t blame her for not wanting to talk to him. He _was_ the one to blame for her becoming a banshee.

None the less it was _more_ than just _vexing_ to know she could tell him what the hell happened and refusing to give him even the slightest clue.

Alright, he _had_ a clue. Apparently he had dated this _Harry_ sometime before his family was killed. It was more than obvious that Derek knew Harry, so Peter could conclude that he had brought Harry to meet his family. Something he wouldn’t have done if he and Harry weren’t a serious couple, which would explain why his wolf recognized Harry as mate, although it _didn’t_ explain why his wolf was angry with Harry. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep his wolf at bay because of the full moon.

He couldn’t understand why his wolf would be angry with Harry. It should be howling for the bond to be established, not wanting to rip the sleeping wizard apart.

As though that wasn’t enough, Peter knew next to nothing about the raven haired man except that he was apparently strong enough to bring down a Berserker on his own escaping only with a bruise on his cheek and a cut above his left eye. It appeared also that Harry had a similar outlook on the world as Peter since he without any remorse suggested they kill Kate before she manages to bring anyone harm, which in Peter’s case only brought brownie points to Harry.

The list of injuries on Harry’s body made Peter wonder just what the wizard lived through to have such heavy scars-

“You’re too loud,” the hoarse groan made Peter look up, and he found Harry shifting slowly under the covers, grunting in pain before he settled with a sigh, dark emerald eyes - drowsy with sleep and heavy medication - opening and settling on Peter, full lips tilting up for the smallest of bits.

“I didn’t say anything,” Peter answered in a dry drawl and a quiet, suppressed laugh rolled past those lips, Harry shaking his head a bit before that soul searing gaze settled on the ceiling, scarred right hand coming to rest on the bandaged chest.

“You’re _thinking_ too loudly,” Harry muttered tiredly and Peter’s right eyebrow jumped up.

“What, you can read thoughts?” he asked and pushed away from the wall, making an effort to speak quietly as not to wake Lydia up.

“No,” Harry answered before squinting a bit, lips pursing as he weighed his words, “well, _yes_ actually, but it takes a bit of effort.” Peter’s eyebrows met the line of his hair as he took a seat, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You’re just concentrating so much that your feelings are rolling off of you in waves, and I can’t ignore it because my mental shields are practically nonexistent at the moment.”

Peter hummed and tilted his head to the side, squinting at Harry in obvious scrutiny, fingers entwined a little to the left of his head.

“You are, without question, a very interesting man, Mr. Potter,” Peter spoke, lips hardly parting, and Harry snorted, arching his chest a bit with a wince and rotating his head from side to side, something cracking in his neck before he breathed out sharply and settled again.

“I am hardly all that interesting, Mr. Hale,” Harry countered and looked at Peter again, eyes half open, and Peter frowned when the wolf growled in the back of his mind, a spark of anger igniting in Peter’s heart only to burn out almost instantly when the wizard’s lips tilted up into a small, remorseful smile. “They told you nothing,” murmured the wizard quietly and Peter frowned.

“Is there anything to say?” he asked, voice laced with something not even _he_ could name, and Harry sighed, shaking his head before he looked at the ceiling again.

“A lot of things could be said, Mr. Hale,” Harry spoke quietly, words heavy and voice hollow. “I have no doubt that you have already come to several conclusions on your own based on what little information they _did_ give you. You’re too smart for _anyone’s_ good.” Harry chuckled and shook his head, eyes slipping closed. “But _this_?” he opened his eyes and looked at Peter.

The werewolf frowned in confusion when the wolf seemed to recoil within his mind, as though posed to defend, although no obvious threat was in sight. If anything, Harry looked ready to disappear at any given moment. His eyes were full of sadness and regret, of sorrow and pain, and Peter couldn’t understand why his wolf - after hours of being more than hostile towards the wizard - seemed to slowly shift from that hostility to hesitant interest.

“I know that you don’t remember me, Peter,” Harry whispered, and the werewolf was slightly taken aback by the wizard using his given name all of a sudden, but the drowsiness in Harry’s eyes told Peter that the wizard was struggling to stay awake. “I know that you don’t remember me, that you don’t remember what we’ve had, and _believe_ me, it is better this way.”

“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?” Peter bit out, suddenly angry, but that seemed to simply brush off of Harry, because the smile with which he gifted the werewolf seemed to be one of absolute resignation.

“You don’t need me in your life,” Harry spoke, voice laced with as much certainty as a man on the verge of falling asleep could muster. “You don’t need me.”

“I don’t need anyone,” Peter blurted out, “least of all a man who is unwilling to tell me what I need to know,” he pressed out angrily and Harry shook his head.

“Nothing would be achieved by me telling you what happened,” he answered. “Your memories were locked away by an alpha, and nothing would make sense to you. Only an alpha can bring your memories back.”

“I know that myself, _thankyouverymuch_ ,” Peter answered scathingly, “but if _you_ keep spewing that bullshit you _don’t really believe_ \- if I might add - about me not needing to remember you, I don’t think I’ll be able to convince the only alpha I know to bring my memories back.”

Harry looked at Peter, gaze unreadable, perfectly aware what Peter had meant with his words. It didn’t escape Harry’s notice that his heartbeat quickened a bit when we had said that to Peter.

“I don’t want you to remember,” he said, and there his heart went betraying him again. Peter snorted, lips tilting in a smirk, and he stood up, crossing the small distance between them.

He wrapped his right hand around the metal bar of Harry’s bed, placing his left hand flat on Harry’s chest, just under his neck, the warmth of his fingers scorching Harry’s skin. His gaze never left Harry’s, searching for something, _anything_ that would tell him the wizard was either uncomfortable or afraid and yet finding nothing of either.

The wizard merely stared at him, gaze dull and hollow, and Peter’s lips twitched in a sneer, frustration and anger slowly getting the better of him.

“ _Or_ I could simply read your mind,” he pressed out through his teeth, hand sliding up a bit to wrap loosely around Harry’s neck. Peter knew what he was doing. He was trying to get a reaction from the wizard, _any_ reaction to find out what Harry felt for him. He didn’t know exactly _what_ he wanted to find, but other than digging his claws into the back of Harry’s neck, no other way came to his mind.

“You say you don’t want me to remember, and yet your heart tells me that you’re lying,” Peter spoke through bared teeth as he loomed over Harry, feeling the wizard swallowing calmly, Adam’s apple bobbing under Peter’s hand. “You say that it’s better this way, and yet you sound _remorseful_. You sound _resigned_.”

Peter’s face was inches away from Harry’s and the wizard breathed in deeply, drawing an instinctual reaction from Peter and making him repeat the action. Harry’s scent washed over Peter. The scent of rainforests, of fresh cut grass, and air just before a rain storm, of unnamed desires laced with danger and darkness, and something so _deep_ , so old and primeval, as though it came from the long forgotten past when no being existed to put a label on the scent rolling off of the wizard in steady waves.

A part of Peter wanted to back away, wanted to run in the other direction because Harry Potter smelled like a predator, a being so powerful all others should clear his path, and yet the other part of the werewolf wanted to bury itself in Harry, wanted to roll himself within that scent to carry it as a part of him forever.

His wolf howled and slammed against Peter’s mind, _begging_ to be released, to be allowed to run unbound. Whatever that scent was it woke something within Peter that had never before been set free.

Or he simply didn’t remember it.  

A sudden _urge_ appeared, an urge to _bite_ the pale neck under Peter’s hand, to tear the jugular vein pumping steadily and taste the blood flowing through the body of the wizard, just to see how it would taste on his tongue, to see if it would awaken the same desires the wizard’s scent had awakened.

“Your wolf is showing,” Harry spoke in a whisper and Peter felt as though someone slapped him awake, the sound of steady growling Peter didn’t know he was making stopping abruptly.

Electric blue eyes stared in Harry’s emerald orbs, and Peter’s eyebrows twitched when he saw the tightness around Harry’s lips and the sadness in those viridian depths. Not really mindful of what he was doing, Peter moved his left hand until he could trace the seam of a full bottom lip with his thumb.

Harry’s lips parted and a wavering breath rolled off of them, eyes turning suspiciously glassy as his breathing grew shallower and quicker. He couldn’t take his eyes away from those electric-blues, his thoughts a jumbled mess of questions and conclusions he couldn’t really put in the right order.

His resolution to not reveal everything to Peter was already failing, pressed down by the feelings which he had kept for Peter in his heart for the past years, emotions that had pushed him through things he wouldn’t have survived otherwise. He had never thought, never _hoped_ that Peter would wait for him. He had thought he would find Peter happy with some other man or woman, married - _mated_ to someone with a flock of children around him.

When Harry had found out the truth, when he had thought that Peter was dead, he thought he lost his reason for living. When he found out that Peter was alive, he was confused and angry. But when he found out that Peter didn’t remember him, that Talia had locked his memories away to save Peter from himself, _that_ was when Harry simply stopped hoping for anything.

He meant what he had said to Lydia. He would rather have Peter not remembering him than hating him. He would rather have Peter not knowing him than denying him. Harry survived without Peter for years, and his soul ached for the werewolf. But if Kate had never killed the Hales, if Peter’s family wasn’t destroyed, Peter would have found happiness one day. He would have continued on with his life without Harry.

And whether Harry wanted to admit it or not, that hurt.

He could understand why Talia locked Peter’s memories away. He understood and accepted it. What Lydia had said - about him and Peter having a chance to be together now - may have been right, but Harry would never know peace. He would never know comfort and love he knew before. Peter would never love him as he did ten years ago. He would never look at him the way he did back then. He would never touch him the same way again.

Looking into those blue eyes, Harry could see traces of the old Peter buried deep under sadness, sorrow, loss and pain, and he knew that if Peter remembered him the werewolf would be disgusted by what he was looking at.

He would be disgusted by what Harry had become. Peter had changed because of everything that happened to him. Harry has been changed by everything done to him. They would never be able to go back to what they were. They will never reclaim what was taken from them.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” Peter whispered, and all of a sudden Harry realized that the werewolf was almost dangerously close.

Reflexively, Harry’s right hand darted up to fist on Peter’s left shoulder and the werewolf looked at it, eyebrows narrowing at the sight of the heavy scarring. The werewolf moved back a bit, wrapping his left hand around Harry’s wrist as the wizard let go of him, and emerald eyes widened when Peter brought the scarred appendage closer to his lips and nose, taking a deep breath.

“Who did this to you?” Peter breathed out, words hardly audible, and Harry forced down a swallow, the warmth of Peter’s touch surging down his arm and settling like a heavy weight in his stomach.

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry choked out, struggling to gather his bearings. Peter looked at Harry with a cocked eyebrow, hand wrapping around Harry’s. “They’re all dead.”

“Well, well, well,” Peter drawled, eyes glimmering with obvious amusement. “A man after my own heart,” he muttered and a shiver wrecked Harry’s body as he stomped down on the thought that maybe they _could_ have something together before it could ignite the spark of hope in Harry’s heart.

He had hoped too much in the past only to have his hopes extinguished by life. He had learned his lesson.

“Tell me, _Harry_ ,” Peter purred and the wizard held his breath unconsciously as Peter’s fingers trailed down his right forearm as though tracing every ragged line. “Do you _really_ not want me to remember?”

A tongue darted out to wet dry lips as Harry suddenly - and quite vividly - remembered just how good Peter was in cajoling someone - more often than not _Harry_ \- into getting what he wanted. Not even Talia could resist her brother when he really _tried_ , although more often than not Peter simply let Talia and her mate make decisions about the pack.

He used his astonishing gift of persuasion for small things, mostly talking Harry into spending the night with him when Harry would _really_ need to get some sleep because he had a double shift the other day, or spending the night with Peter beside a small creek deep in the forest surrounding Beacon Hills.

Although Harry could never complain about that, not ever, because when Peter got something he gave equally - if not even _more -_ in return.

When Harry would work double shifts after spending the whole night with Peter, the werewolf would all but _shower_ him in coffee and sweet, sugary treats, stealing moments with Harry in the station, making sure they wouldn’t get caught, just to bring Harry through the day without the wizard collapsing with exhaustion, and then he would be there with Harry the following night, holding him as he slept, because Harry slept best wrapped in Peter’s arms.

 _Why can’t I have that again,_ Harry thought, pain gripping his heart which started to beat faster, _why can’t I have him again?_ He struggled to push back the tears before they showed in his eyes as his mind listed every single reason _why_.

“I don’t…” The rest of the sentence was left hanging in the air between them because Harry choked up, and a smirk tilted Peter’s lips.

“You are a very bad liar, Mr. Potter,” Peter drawled as he pulled back slowly, and Harry breathed out, blinking hurriedly as he glanced at Lydia, still sleeping somewhat peacefully in her chair. He had almost forgotten she was even there. “A very bad liar.”

Harry swallowed heavily and looked at Peter who stood a little away from the bed, hands fisted loosely by his sides.

“I never _could_ lie to you,” Harry murmured, hardly aware that he had said that aloud, and something flashed through Peter’s eyes, something akin to determination.

“I will learn the truth,” he spoke, words laced with a promise; almost an oath. “Convincing our darling Scott to unlock my memories might take some time, but he _will_ do it.”

“What if I begged you to just leave it be?” Harry asked in a hoarse, strained voice, whole body trembling for all the obvious reasons.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Peter shook his head with each sound, lips pursed and corners twitching as the werewolf suppressed the smile. “I _always_ …”

“Get what you want,” Harry finished weakly, turning his head away from Peter and looked at the window, the drapes concealing the outside world from Harry. “I know,” he added quietly, hands fisting on top of the covers.

Peter hummed as he stared at Harry’s face. The conflict within the wizard was obvious to Peter, and it made the need to answer the questions haunting him even more urgent.

He _would_ find out who Harry was to him and when. He wouldn’t rest until he had his answers. And _then_ he would confront Harry with everything.

How did that saying go?

Heavens made an oath to Earth that all secrets shall be revealed? Harry Potter was a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma, and Peter would unravel it all.

If it would be the last thing he did.

**cut**

“Hurry!” Kate hissed as she and Derek rushed towards the entrance to the Hale family vault. The werewolf glanced around, catching sight of a flash of red from Kira’s skirt in the distance and breathing a sigh of relief before he focused on Kate.

“This way,” Derek muttered and led Kate down a set of stairs and through the short tunnel, leading to the front of the school.

“Derek, wait!” the two stopped in their tracks and turned around finding Scott standing at one end.

The sound of a katana leaving its sheath made them turn around and they found Kira standing at the other end.

“Derek, step away from her,” Scott spoke, a clear warning lacing his words as he started a slow prowl towards Kate and Derek, and the de-aged werewolf stepped in front of Kate while she stood back to back with him, staring at Kira with a smirk tilting her lips.

“Scott-”

“She can’t be trusted, Derek!” Scott spoke sharply, eyes flashing alpha-red, and Derek nodded minutely, glancing over his right shoulder at Kate. “She’s using you!”

“Don’t listen to him, Derek!” Kate spoke in a wavering voice, Kira’s eyes widening because unlike Derek and Scott she could _see_ the malicious gleam in Kate’s eyes belying her fearful voice. “ _They_ are the enemy! They took you! They did this to you!”

Derek’s face morphed into one of pure hate as he resisted the urge to just turn around and rip Kate’s head off. It was still too early. She didn’t summon the Berserker yet.

“Derek, I can explain everything,” Scott spoke slowly, approaching Derek and Kate, keeping his eyes trained on Derek’s, quietly telling him to stay calm just a bit longer, _begging_ Derek not to lose control.

“Scott, I-” before Derek could finish the sentence a loud roar broke the strained atmosphere, sending shivers down Scott’s, Kira’s and Derek’s spines.

“What was that?” Derek blurted out, claws replacing blunt nails and eyes turning bright, electric blue as the air filled with an overwhelming, animalistic _stench_. “Kate, what was that?!”

“I don’t know!” Kate cried out, turning around to look at Derek, her hands wrapping around his left forearm and making him look at her. “But I don’t want to stick around to find…” she was cut of by the sound of a heavy footstep, followed by another, and another.

Heavy breathing reached their ears and the teens tensed up, Scott slowly turning on his heel and walking backwards. Seconds later, a huge form stepped into the tunnel, bones glimmering in the weak light of street-lamps.

“Oh my god…” Kira breathed out, running past Derek and Kate and taking a stance beside Scott without a thought while the _monster_ in front of them fisted his hands and straightened to full, intimidating height.

“Derek, come on!” Kate screamed and pulled Derek away, the de-aged werewolf glancing at Scott and Kira one last time before losing sight of them when he and Kate climbed the stairs.

“Stiles and the sheriff are in position,” Kira murmured, taking a firm hold of her katana, even though she was shaking like mad. She glanced at Scott, her eyes widening when she saw his focused, determined stance, completely shifted with eyes glowing red.

“Derek will handle Kate until we’re done here,” Scott pressed out through bared teeth, voice slightly distorted and speaking with a slight lisp. “We need to handle _him_ first.” He nodded towards the Berserker.

Kira nodded and fixed her stance, raising her katana, hundreds of thoughts rolling through her mind, all coming down to a simple conclusion.

**cut**

“Ready?” Stiles asked his dad, watching as Derek opened the entrance to the vault, and John snorted as he took a firm hold of the bomb, the ignition safe in his right pocket.

“In all honesty, son?” Stiles looked at John and found his dad looking at him with a smirk, both impressed and wary. “I’m not ready _at all_.”

Stiles snorted and glanced around wincing when he heard Scott roar, followed by what Stiles assumed was the Berserker, the sounds of battle drawing increasingly closer.

“Know what you mean, dad,” Stiles pressed out tightly, a shiver wrecking his body when a heavy, warm hand settled on his left shoulder. He looked at John again, his shoulder receiving a small, reassuring squeeze, and John moved closer to press a lingering kiss to Stiles’ brow.

“I’m proud of you, son,” John spoke in a strained, hoarse voice. “And I love you.”

Stiles forced down a swallow, sucking his lips between his teeth before gasping shortly and nodding hurriedly, eyes suspiciously glassy. “Love you too, dad,” he answered in a voice hardly above a whisper. “I love you too.”

**cut**

“We need to find it quickly,” Kate spoke hurriedly as she moved quickly down the middle of the vault, searching for the talisman, not even noticing that Derek wasn’t following her.

“The act is over, Kate,” Derek spoke firmly and Kate stopped in her tracks, slowly turning around to look at him.

Derek stood strong, a dark glare on his face, eyes glowing electric blue as his claws glimmered in the weak light of the lamps aligning the walls of the vault.

“Derek?” she asked, still pretending to be frightened, and Derek’s nose and lips wrinkled in a hateful sneer.

“My memories were given back to me,” he pressed out through sharpening teeth and Kate’s eyes widened momentarily before the act simply _vanished_ , and she sighed in a suffering way, hands flopping against her thighs.

“Well, no one said it was a perfect plan,” she said and shook her head, looking at Derek with a seductive, _leering_ smirk. “Although I have to say, seeing you like _that_ again,” she chuckled darkly, “it sure does bring back memories,” she whispered, licking her lips as she strolled towards him. “I guess I’ll just have to find the talisman after I’ve killed you.” She shrugged carelessly and shifted in front of Derek, making the werewolf growl, features shifting completely.

“The talisman is just a trinket,” he pressed out through bared teeth feeling a spark of pleasure pulsate up his spine when Kate frowned in confusion. “It has no power in itself. It’s just a focus. You went through all this trouble for _nothing_.”

“You’re lying,” Kate hissed out through her teeth and Derek couldn’t help but smirk at her, rolling his neck and shoulders as they started to circle one another.

“Afraid not,” he growled. He could see Kate going through realization and horror, all of it showing on her face and in her eyes, before anger took hold and she roared in pure white rage, charging at Derek maniacally.

 _Finally_ he could get his revenge.

**cut**

Stiles and John jumped to attention when Kira fell several feet away from them with a pained shout, her katana sliding across the short space between them to stop not far from Stiles, and the Stilinski men knew that was their cue.

Jumping out of their hideout, they quickly located Scott and the Berserker, seeing the moment the monster grabbed the collar of Scott’s shirt to throw him away into one of the big concrete pillars.

“Hey! Big boy!” Stiles shouted, sounding more confident than he really felt. “Oh shit…” he breathed out when the Berserker turned towards him, hearing his dad running quietly through the shadows of the high fens to get in his position. “Yeah, you dickwad, I’m right here!”

When the Berserker roared, throwing his head back, Stiles cursed under his breath and broke into a run towards his dad’s position, ‘fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,’ flowing down his lips as he forced himself not to look back.

“Fuck!” he cried out, hearing Scott and Kira call out to him fearfully, and not a second later Stiles was flying.

“Stiles!” Scott cried out and ran forward, and both fell to the ground in a mass of limbs, rolling for a bit before they came to a sharp stop.

“Scott! Stiles!” Kira ran over to them, falling to her knees to Scott’s right, and the alpha looked to his left at Stiles before all three of them focused on the slowly approaching Berserker.

“Hey!” John’s voice reached them and they looked past the Berserker who stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around. “Catch!”

“Now!” Stiles snapped and the teens scurried to their feet, running as fast as they could to hide behind the closest stone wall. “Shit!” the explosion made Stiles stumble, but Scott grabbed a hold of him in the last moment pulling both Stiles and Kira under himself to shield them with his body from the falling rubble.

Breathing deeply and heavily, the three teens waited for the dust to settle, the young alpha listening carefully to any sound that might signal that their plan had failed.

“Stiles! Scott! Kira!” John’s voice reached them and the teens jumped to their feet, still somewhat shaky, running out of their hideout.

“Dad!” Stiles cried out and ran to his father, falling into his arms, both of them covered in dust, pieces of concrete in their hair and clothes, but relieved and _alive_. The Stilinski men parted and John gave Kira and Scott a quick once-over breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that they were alright.

“Let’s go,” Stiles blurted out. “Derek might need help.”

“Sure,” Scott said and the four of them ran for the vault. They were just entering the small tunnel, the horror of what had happened slowly leaving their minds, only to return full force at the sight of something they had hoped never to see again.

“Stiles!” John pulled his son behind him, gun already in hand, while Scott stepped in front of Kira, alpha-red eyes glowing ominously as their assailant prepared to attack.

“There were three…” Stiles breathed out, eyes impossibly wide, and a moment later a horrifying roar echoed through the night.

**cut**

Derek roared as he threw Kate into a metal vault, both the box and the woman tumbling away with the force of Derek’s hit.

“It’s over, Kate,” he growled as he watched her scramble to her feet. Between the two of them Derek was the one who knew how to use the strength given to him by the full moon.

Kate may be an experienced hunter, but her powers were still new to her and she couldn’t control her anger, her strength.

And Derek could.

“Aren’t you so very _pleased_ with yourself, _Derek_ ,” she pressed out spitefully, electric green eyes staring at Derek hatefully. “Do you really think you can kill me? Me?!” she screamed and Derek tilted his head to the side a bit, flexing his fingers a bit.

“I will _enjoy_ it,” he growled and charged, with Kate jumping at him. Shifting from a run and into a crouch, Derek jumped and snatched her out of air, taking a firm hold of her jacket before he threw her into the closest set of shelves.

Not hesitating even for a moment, he jumped at her, coming to crouch right over her, left hand fisted in her jacket and right raised, claws at the ready.

“This is for my family,” he pressed out through his teeth, going for her throat. Just before he could strike, a howl echoed through the night, and a shiver of dread passed down Derek’s spine. “Scott…” he breathed out before looking down at Kate.

She was gasping for air, disoriented and weak, struggling to breathe through her broken ribs fixing themselves. For a moment, _just a moment_ , Derek hesitated. For less than it takes to really breathe in and out, Derek wanted to stay there and rip Kate into ribbons.

And then a scream he had never heard before and hoped to never hear again reached his ears, and without a second thought he jumped to his feet, leaving Kate behind.

**cut**

“Dad!” Stiles screamed, trying to climb to his feet but unable to because of the huge piece of stone he was trapped under. Scott was too far, having been thrown into one of the pillars, disoriented and practically unconscious. Kira was lying on the ground a little to Stiles’ right, blood pooling under her head from where the Berserker hit her into the concrete floor.

And the Berserker was slowly advancing towards John who had just thrown his gun away, having run out of bullets.

“Dad, run!” Stiles screamed, tears of frustration, of fear and pain and pure horror streaming down his cheeks as he tried to pull himself out. His breath caught in his throat when John’s eyes met his, and Stiles’ heart stopped beating.

He could only watch as the Berserker raised his right arm, the bone claw glimmering ominously in the light of the moon shining down upon them, and Stiles felt as though time slowed down.

“DAD!!” Stiles’ thundering scream overlapped with a powerful roar, and the human’s eyes widened when Derek jumped from somewhere above them, tackling the Berserker, both of them rolling away with Derek scrambling to his feet and taking a stance in front of John.

“Derek!” John cried out when the de-aged werewolf attacked the Berserker, the two moving around one another, fist meeting fist in a deadly dance.

“Stiles…” the teen looked up when Kira breathed out his name, and not a second later Scott stumbled over, the two working together to set Stiles free. The human though, couldn’t get his eyes off of Derek. “Stiles!” Scott snapped and Stiles realized that the alpha had raised him up to his feet, and Kira was standing beside Stiles, blinking rapidly and in complete aw.

“Scott, look…” Stiles breathed out and looked back at Derek. John managed to run over to them, but when he saw the expressions of pure amazement on the teens’ faces he tried to see what made them like that, only to lose his breath as well.

The Berserker grabbed Derek and slammed him into the closest wall, but when it tried to repeat the action, Derek grabbed its shoulders and flipped his legs back to plant his feet against the wall, strong legs serving to propel him with a powerful push over the Berserker. Using the thing’s strength against it, Derek flipped the monster over himself.

In that moment it looked as though a ripple of magic washed over Derek, and just for a _second_ it appeared as though the older Derek stood in front of them.

“What is going on?” Kira breathed out, hands wrapping around Stiles’ right forearm, and the human spared her a glance before looking at Scott, his gaze settling on his dad who stared at everything in disbelief.

“I think…” Stiles choked up, his throat dry, and he swallowed heavily as he looked at Derek again. “I think he’s changing back.”

Derek moved back, letting go of a thundering roar as the Berserker reared back for an attack. As the monster moved towards Derek, raising the claw dagger to deal the killing blow, Derek ran straight at him, grabbing a hold of the Berserkers right hand and flipping himself up, straddling the monster’s massive shoulders.

A choked up grunt escaped Derek as he took a hold of the scull covering the Berserker’s face.

“Derek!” Stiles called out, staring at Derek frightfully as the Berserker roared and bucked under the werewolf struggling to tear the mask off of it.

“Stiles, no!” John grabbed Stiles to hold him back and the teen looked at his father with wide eyes, a frustrated yowl which escaped the Berserker making them all look back at the struggling werewolf.

In the next moment as a growl rumbled in his chest, Derek shifted as much strength as he could into his hands, pulling on the mask covering the Berserker’s face. Steadily, the growl turned into a thundering roar, and everyone held their breaths as Derek threw his head back, the Berserker’s skull breaking in two.

As the monster let go of an ear-splitting screech it burst into dust, and Derek toppled forward, rolling on the ground before stilling in a crouch, his back turned on the shocked group. Ever so slowly, Derek stood up, massive shoulders heaving, and no one missed the way his shirt seemed to cling to his muscled body as he cracked his neck and rotated his shoulders.

John and the teens held their breaths as Derek turned around to face them, hair mated to his hair with sweat, lake-green eyes staring at them as thick eyebrows rose a bit.

And then came something not one of them expected.

Something that made them hold their breaths.

Something that made their hearts clench.

Derek’s eyes turned beta-gold.

**cut**

**So!**

**What do you think?**

**Do you want more?**

 


	9. Damaged

**Hello, hello!**

**It’s good to see you again!**

**Thank you all for getting this far, and for being wonderful readers and leaving me inspiring reviews and comments.**

**A few of you asked about Stiles and I really hope this chapter answers at least some of your questions!**

**I hope you’ll like the new chapter!**

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**Hope to see you there!!**

**cut**

_Remember me as I was then;_   
_Turn from me now, but always see_   
_The laughing shadowy girl who stood_   
_At midnight by the flowering tree,_   
_With eyes that love had made as bright_   
_As the trembling stars of the summer night._   
  
_Turn from me now, but always hear_   
_The muted laughter in the dew_   
_Of that one year of youth we had,_   
_The only youth we ever knew --_   
_Turn from me now, or you will see_   
_What other years have done to me._

_\- Sara Teasdale, ‘Change’_

**cut**

Lydia startled awake when the door opened, and her eyes widened at the sight of her friends. They were all covered in dust, with pieces of what appeared to be cement in their hair. Kira had obviously washed her face, but there were smudges of crusted blood along her hairline and a clogging cut on her forehead. Scott looked pretty much alright, John looked like he had seen better days, and Stiles’ eyes were still wide, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his dirty hoodie.

It took Lydia a moment to realize that Peter was also there and that Harry was awake as well, neither her nor Peter realizing that the wizard had managed to sit up on his own, wide eyes scanning the group of people.

“Derek…” Harry breathed out, right arm wrapped around his midsection, eyes filled with pain, but it was obvious that he was too worried about the group of people - Derek more than anyone - to worry about his wounds. “Where is-”

“I’m here,” the soft albeit deeper voice came from the back of the group, and they parted to let Derek in, the three who remained behind holding their breaths, eyes widening when they saw that Derek had returned to normal.

“Derek?” Harry breathed out weakly, gaze racking over the obviously stronger form of the younger man, and he reflexively moved forward, grunting when the pain became too much.

Derek hurried over to the wizard, big, warm hands settling on heaving shoulders as the werewolf leaned forward trying to look in Harry’s eyes. Harry raised his head, gasping for air, and wide emerald eyes met lake-green ones, quivering lips tilting up into a smile as an almost hysterical laugh escaped them.

“Oh my…” Harry whispered raising trembling hands and cupping Derek’s face within them, only Lydia seeing the tender smile which tilted Derek’s lips as Harry caressed bearded cheeks with his thumbs. “You’ve grown up into a handsome young man,” he murmured before laughing weakly again, eyes turning glassy, “although I’ve never imagined you with a beard.”

Derek laughed quietly, allowing - without any struggle at all - Harry to pull him into a hug, wrapping massive arms around the wizard’s slighter frame. Derek buried his nose in Harry’s neck breathing in his scent, and Harry fisted his right hand in Derek’s hair, left grabbing a fistful of Derek’s shirt as he hid his face in Derek’s shoulder, familiarizing himself with Derek’s scent.

“I was worried,” Harry whispered, but in the tense silence of the room everyone could hear him. He and Derek parted although Derek kept his hands on Harry’s arms in case the wizard needed help. “I’m glad to see that all of you are well.”

“We’re alright,” Stiles spoke up. “A few bumps and bruises,” He shrugged and Harry looked at him over Derek’s right shoulder, eyebrows narrowing at the sight of Stiles’ pale skin, unfocused gaze and hunched shoulders. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Stiles, come here,” Harry murmured. “You as well, Kira.” The two teens exchanged a glance but did as they were told, and Derek moved to the side a bit. Harry’s scowl darkened when he saw Stiles limping as he walked over to the bed and Kira was cradling her right wrist in her left hand, obviously hurt. “John, are you hurt?”

“No,” John shook his head and Harry nodded minutely, blinking quickly before he straightened and looked at Kira who stood right in front of him.

“I’m not a healer,” Harry spoke warmly, gently taking Kira’s sprained wrist in his hands, sending a shiver up her spine, “but I doubt you want to show up in front of your parents like this.”

“You can heal us?” she asked wide-eyed and Harry gifted her with a small smile.

“Like I said, I’m not a healer. I’ve learned only basic spells used mostly in urgent situations on the battlefield,” he murmured, carefully cradling her wrist within his tender hold. “My magic is far from what it normally is and anything bigger than this is far out of my capabilities, but I _can_ do this without risking more damage.”

His eyes slid closed and he whispered something under his breath, a ripple of magic glimmering between his hands, and Kira gasped as warmth spread over her body. With eyes still closed Harry raised his right hand and placed it on the cut on Kira’s forehead, and when he removed it the only thing that could be seen was unblemished skin.

He opened his eyes and breathed out as he leaned back, snapping the fingers of his right hand and making Kira take a step back when a ripple of magic passed over her, fixing her clothes and cleaning her up.

“Wow…” Stiles blurted out, staring at Kira in amazement. “Handy.” Harry laughed quietly and shook his head, waving his left hand for Stiles to come closer.

“Come on,” he muttered, “your turn.”

“There’s no need,” Stiles said hurriedly, waving his hands, and Harry cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re hurt and healing, and you’re tired. You should save your-”

“Stiles, come here,” Harry cut the human teen off and Stiles held his breath, hopping in his place a bit before he moved closer under everyone’s watchful eyes. “I was never one to sit aside while others fought,” Harry spoke, looking straight in Stiles’ eyes. “I don’t like feeling useless and this is something I _can_ do without feeling much of a strain. I’ll rest enough when Melissa comes to check up on me and pumps me so full of morphine I’ll sleep for a _month_.”

Harry’s words placed a smile on Stiles’ lips, making some laugh knowingly while Peter merely snorted and rolled his eyes moving to stand in the back of the room to keep an eye on everything.

“Now, what hurts?” Harry asked, gaze racking over Stiles as the teen moved even closer.

“Right hip,” he mumbled, ducking his head and carefully watching Harry as the wizard leaned forward, only a slight wince telling about the pain of that simple action, and Stiles helped Harry raise the dirty shirt and hoodie so the wizard could place his hand on the teen’s bruised hip.

Stiles shivered when magic spread over his body, incredible, comforting warmth settling over his right hip and pulsating from Harry’s hand, each ripple carrying the pain away until nothing remained.

“You should either lie on your back or on your left side for the night,” Harry murmured as he moved back, taking a deep breath and shaking his head a bit. “Your hip will be a bit tender for a day or two, depending on how careful you’ll be.”

“Okay,” Stiles nodded, taking a step back and gifting Harry with a small hesitant smile. “Thank you.”

Harry answered with a slight upturn of lips before groaning and lying back down raising his right arm to cover his eyes with a forearm. He moved it back and rubbed his eyes with his fingers, covering his mouth with his hand when he yawned.

“I’m beat,” Harry mumbled, forcing himself to open his eyes, tilting his head back a bit to look at Derek. “I suppose, since all of you are here safe and sound, that it went well.”

Everyone exchanged glances, most of them shifting their weight uncomfortably, making Lydia, Peter and Harry frown in worry.

“We’ve handled the Berserkers,” John was the one to speak up placing his hands on his waist as he adjusted his weight on both of his legs. “We killed one with a bomb, and Derek took care of the other.”

“Really now,” Harry murmured, lips tilting up into a smirk as he looked at Derek, eyebrows cocked a bit, and Derek’s eyebrows rose as he crossed his arms over broad chest. “You’ve grown stronger than I thought you would.”

“The others tired it out,” Derek said, glancing and the group standing in front of the door to see Stiles and John roll their eyes while Scott answered with a small smile and a shake of his head, and Kira ducked her head shyly. “And I’ve had enough time to think of a way to kill a Berserker while I waited for Kate to come for me. I remembered reading that a Berserker’s transformation is complete when the scull is placed on them. Thought that if I rip it off the Berserker would lose his strength or at least some of it.”

“Knew there was some brain under all that muscle,” Stiles drawled teasingly and Derek shot the human teen a glare, although there was no real malice in it, especially since the corners of his lips tilted up a bit.

“What about Kate?” Lydia spoke up, and what little cheer appeared among them vanished in less than a second. Derek scowled darkly, jaw tightening as he shifted his weight and ducked his head, eyes darkening as his shoulders grew tense.

“She ran away,” Derek pressed out through tightly clenched teeth making Harry and Lydia frown while Peter cursed under his breath. “We didn’t expect the second Berserker. I managed to incapacitate her, but I heard Scott howl,” he breathed out and shook his head before looking at Harry who stared at Derek with understanding. “I ran to help and she got away.”

“We’ll handle her,” Harry said, gifting Derek with a small smile. “What matters is that all of you are alright.” When Derek exchanged a glance with Stiles, Scott, Kira and John, Harry’s smile fell and everyone heard his heartbeat speed up a bit. “What’s wrong?” he asked, casting a searching glance at everyone before settling on Derek again.

“Maybe we should continue when you’re feeling better,” Derek spoke up softly, placing a hand on Harry’s left shoulder and making the wizard frown at him. “It’s been a difficult few days, _especially_ for you,” murmured the werewolf and Harry’s jaw shifted as his eyes darkened. “We could all use some rest. We’ll continue this-”

“Derek Sebastian Hale, you will stop this charade _right now_ , and tell me what is wrong,” Harry pressed out through his teeth making everyone in the room tense up.

In all honestly, all of them had forgotten that they were dealing with a man dangerous in more than one way. It was easy to forget that seeing him in a hospital bed, struggling to stay awake because of the heavy drugs in his system, especially after he healed Kira and Stiles.

But one glance into those viridian depths in that moment reminded them all without fail, and allowed Peter to see the soldier it had been implied that Harry was.

“Harry-”

“Derek!” the wizard cut Derek off sharply, shifting just a bit, but the hand on his shoulder stopped Harry from sitting up. “ _Tell me_.” Harry looked in Derek’s lake-green orbs and the werewolf took a deep breath, his hold on Harry’s shoulder growing just a bit stronger as Derek slowly closed his eyes.

When he opened them again Harry held his breath, eyes widening as he stared into beta-gold eyes looking at him with confusion, worry and specks of fear.

“Whatever Kate did to me,” Derek swallowed audibly, golden eyes fading into his normal washed-out green, “it wasn’t limited to just de-aging me.”

Harry’s lips opened and closed several times as he tried to come up with something to say, but nothing came to mind. He turned instead to look at John and the others, Lydia having joined the group, standing beside Kira, the two young girls drawing comfort from one another by holding on to each other.

Stiles stood close to his dad with Scott close to them, and the human teen’s eyes were trained on Derek as though he would be able to find the answer to this new problem somewhere on Derek’s strong form.

At last Harry’s gaze settled on Peter who was staring at Derek, squinting at the younger werewolf in obvious confusion and worry, and Harry could almost _hear_ wheels turning in Peter’s head as the werewolf went through the massive knowledge about the supernatural he had acquired through various experiences, and Harry knew that - just like he - Peter was coming up with nothing.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Harry finally spoke up and looked at Derek who narrowed his eyes at the wizard. “But right now all of you need to go home and get some much needed rest.” He covered Derek’s hand with his scarred one and offered a small smile; one which he hoped was reassuring. “Besides, visiting hours are long over and you could all get in trouble if you’re caught here.”

“Should someone stay with you?” John asked and Harry shook his head.

“If Kate ran away then she’s hiding and licking her wounds,” he said. “Her plans failed and she’s regrouping.”

“ _Hopefully_ , back in Mexico,” Stiles muttered under his breath and Harry chuckled, nodding minutely in agreement.

“Right,” he said and Stiles gifted him with a small smile. “John, I have a favor to ask.” Said man looked a bit surprised as he stared at Harry, the wizard looking at him with a slightly guarded stare.

“What is it?” John asked and Harry swallowed before he licked his lips, shifting a bit in his bed.

“The teens know where my car is parked. There’s a bag in the trunk I’ll need you to bring to me. I need to contact someone,” Harry spoke although he didn’t sound pleased at all. “I need to pay Braeden for what she did for me, and I’ll need resources to find out what Kate did to Derek.”

“I’ll bring it first thing in the morning,” John spoke and Harry nodded minutely.

“Go now. There’s nothing more we can do right now,” he said, right hand slipping off of Derek’s as he slid down in bed with a sigh, eyes sliding closed.

“Are you sure that no one should stay with you?” Stiles asked and Harry opened his eyes to look at him, gifting the human teen with a small smile.

“I’m fine, Stiles,” he spoke warmly and Stiles nodded minutely, shifting his weight as he buried his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “Trust me.”

Peter snorted at that, but no one paid him any heed at that point, everything that happened in the past few days finally catching up with them, draining them of whatever strength they had left.

“Come on everyone,” John spoke up, clapping his hands before directing the teens towards the door. “I’ll drive you all home and you can pick your cars up in the morning.”

“See you, Harry,” Scott greeted the wizard who nodded in return, offering a small smile.

“See ya,” Kira spoke shyly, waving at Harry before she allowed Scott to wrap his arms around her reassuringly and lead her out of the room.

“Get some rest,” Lydia said, and Harry nodded at her.

“You as well,” he answered and she left the room, following after Scott and Kira.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” John spoke up placing his right hand on the nape of Stiles’ neck.

“I’ll drop by as well,” Stiles said, glancing towards Derek who showed no indication that he intended to leave. “Good night.”

“Good night, Stiles,” Harry answered warmly, “and take care.”

“Will do.” The Stilinski men left the room leaving Harry alone with Derek and Peter who hadn’t stopped staring at Derek during the whole exchange.

“Derek-”

“I’m staying here,” Derek cut Harry off and the wizard frowned at him.

“Derek, you need to rest,” he insisted and Derek shook his head, glancing over his left shoulder at Peter who raised an eyebrow at him.

“I can rest here,” Derek finally spoke, shifting his gaze to Harry, and the wizard stared in those lake-green eyes for a long moment before he sighed and nodded minutely, relaxing against the pillows.

“Alright,” he answered all strength and will to argue simply draining out of him.

“I’ll just take my leave then,” Peter said, offering the other two a strained smile, but neither looked in his direction. With a small hum Peter left room, closing the door on his way out, a frown marring his features as he walked down the hallway, careful not to run into someone.

Things have become _more_ than interesting - _concerning_ to say the least.

He had some research to do.

And there was no time like right now to start.

**cut**

The moment the door closed behind Peter, Derek walked over to the chair formerly occupied by his uncle and he carried it closer to the bed, taking a seat in it. He crossed his arms and legs and looked at Harry finding the wizard staring at him with an unreadable gaze and a small smile tilting his lips.

“Melissa should come to check up on me soon,” he spoke in a slightly nasal voice, eyes dilated with weariness. “You can ask her for a cot.” Derek gifted Harry with a small smile, shaking his head a bit.

“I’ve spent my fair share of time sleeping in chairs,” he answered, voice warm and reassuring. “One night won’t bring me any harm.” Harry scoffed and shook his head, eyes slipping closed again so he didn’t see Derek’s eyes narrow. “I heard you and Peter talking when we entered the building,” he spoke quietly and Harry’s eyes opened, sadness darkening viridian depths.

“Derek, I…” The unspoken words hung in the air as Harry tried to formulate them into a coherent sentence before sighing and shaking his head. “What Peter and I had before, we will never have again. You better than anyone know how much I’ve changed. You can actually see it.”

“You’re still Harry,” Derek countered and Harry swallowed audibly, closing his eyes and hitting his head back against the pillow. “Yes, you’re different. Your scent changed and - and Stiles told me what you’ve told them about what you’ve lived through.”

“I didn’t tell them half of it, Derek,” Harry murmured weakly, eyes pressing tightly as a pained line appeared between his eyebrows, lips thinning in an agonized line. “I didn’t tell them _half_ of it. What I did - what I was _forced_ to do…”

“Hey…” Derek moved forward, covering Harry’s left hand with both of his, careful of the infusion. “You’ve been in my head,” he spoke quietly, voice tight and hoarse, “you’ve seen what I’ve done and you’re not treating me any different than how you did before.”

Harry let go of a choked up gasp, opening his eyes to look at Derek, struggling to suppress the tears that threatened to fall. Derek’s lips tilted up into a small smile, eyes glowing with warmth.

“I never forgot about you, Harry,” he spoke, each word laced with honesty and care. “In the short year you were with us, you were like an older brother to me. When you disappeared I…” Derek’s lips opened and closed several times as he searched for the right words. “I was lost. Your disappearance hurt, although I don’t know what hurt more, the thought that you left without a word or that something happened to you. _Knowing_ what happened - what those people did to you - I can’t hate you, Harry.”

“Derek-”

“I can’t hate you,” Derek cut Harry off, looking straight into those glossy emeralds, trying to convey the truth of his words through his gaze. “I can’t be angry with you. I don’t _want_ to be angry with you or hate you, because you don’t deserve it. And I’m sorry for hurting you,” Derek swallowed heavily, glance darting towards Harry’s sides before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Thank you for going with the others to bring me back. Thank you for bringing my memories back.” He opened his eyes, lips tilting up into a small smile as he squeezed Harry’s hand tenderly. “Thank you for coming back.”

Harry licked chapped lips, taking in a wavering breath, lips twitching as he tried to smile. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be, Derek,” Harry whispered tightly and Derek nodded minutely, the beating of Harry’s heart telling him that the wizard spoke with full honesty. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Derek’s smile grew a bit bigger and he leaned forward, reaching up with his right hand to brush it through Harry’s raven strands, drawing a small content sigh from the wizard. Not long later Harry’s breathing and heartbeat evened out, signaling that he had fallen asleep, but Derek didn’t stop the tender ministrations.

Certain that Harry wouldn’t wake up, Derek stood up and leaned over the sleeping wizard, pressing a lingering kiss to Harry’s forehead, copying the action Harry had done to Derek many times in the past. A tender, comforting gesture that made Derek feel warm and protected, cherished and loved.

“I’m happy you’re back, Harry,” Derek mouthed against the warm skin of Harry’s forehead, slightly warmer than normal. “Thank you… for everything.”

**cut**

“Thank you,” Kira murmured shyly as Scott escorted her to the front door of her house.

“Think nothing of it,” Scott spoke with a small smile, chocolate brown eyes gazing down at her tenderly. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“I’m fine!” she blurted out, wringing her hands in front of her as she looked up at Scott, blushing brightly when he raised an eyebrow at her, lips tilted up in amusement. “I mean - I’m alright.”

“Good,” Scott nodded, voice cracking slightly as he glanced around, burying his hands inside his pockets as he hopped in his place a bit. John and Stiles were waiting around the corner in the car to take Scott home. They didn’t want Kira’s parents to see her arrive in a police car.

Scott had volunteered to escort Kira to her house, but now the situation was a bit strained. Their relationship had yet to be defined. Not that there was actually any time to define it. Something has been growing between them for quite a while now, but everything was set back with the whole Nogitsune incident, Allison’s death, Isaac leaving and then Kate returning.

Although, it’s not like they ever talked about it.

Scott liked Kira. He really, honestly did.

Oh, who was he kidding…

He had fallen in love with her before he realized what hit him. Heavens knew _when_ it happened. What Scott _did_ know was that he cared about her and wanted to protect her. He wanted to _love_ her. But what he _didn’t_ know was if she felt the same for him. Sure there were small things he noticed, but they could be interpreted in different ways, and Scott didn’t want to lose her as a friend in case they weren’t on the same page.

“Scott?” his thoughts were interrupted by Kira hesitatingly calling out to him and he looked in her beautiful eyes, finding the young thunder kitsune looking at him with confusion, hesitancy and something resembling _hope_ , and something ignited in Scott’s heart. Something he hadn’t felt since he and Allison broke it off forever.

“Sorry,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his head with his right hand. “I - I should go now,” he pressed out and she nodded minutely, although Scott caught a glimmer of disappointment flash over her eyes.

“Yeah,” she whispered, looking away from him for a moment. “Sure. Good - good night.”

They shared an awkward hug before Scott all but turned tail and _ran_. He heard Kira opened the door of her house and stopped in his tracks, turning around without really thinking.

“Kira!” he called out and she turned on her heel and looked at him, her heartbeat quickening a bit as her eyes widened. Scott merely stared at her for a long minute, his breathing hurried and slightly shallow, and in a moment decision, without any real thought given to it, he ran back to her, his hands taking hold of her beautiful face.

Her hands wrapped around his wrists, dark eyes staring at Scott wide and hope-filled, and Scott let go of a breathless, quiet laugh, shaking his head as he rested his forehead on Kira’s.

“I’m an idiot,” he pressed out in a tight voice. “Braeden was right,” Kira frowned in confusion when he said that only for Scott to move back a bit to look straight into her eyes, “I should have kissed you.”

Kira held her breath, eyes widening, and her hold on Scott’s hands grew stronger as the chocolate brown gaze of the young alpha darted all over Kira’s face.

“Can I kiss you?” he murmured and Kira’s lips parted in slight shock. Not a moment later, her lips tilted into a beautiful smile and Scott let go of the breath he was unconsciously holding when she nodded.

“Yes,” she breathed out, and without a moment of hesitance, Scott pressed his lips against hers, a content growl rumbling in his chest when she answered, kissing him back with just as much fervor. His hands slipped within her hair, the velvety tresses caressing his skin as her hands fisted on Scott’s shoulders before slipping to his waist as she moved closer.

They parted, both gasping for air, and Scott’s lips tilted up into a smile as he pressed a lingering kiss on her left cheek before pecking her lips again.

“Will you-”

“Yes,” she blurted out before Scott had a chance to finish his question, and the two of them shared a glance before bursting into quiet laughter. Once they’ve calmed, Scott brushed his right hand through her hair, tenderly caressing her cheek with the back of his left hand.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured warmly and Kira nodded minutely, leaning up to press her lips against his.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she answered and Scott reluctantly pulled away.

“See ya,” he took a few steps back waiting until she closed the door, and then he took a deep breath, a grin practically splitting his face as he all but ran back into the car.

“Gee, man, tone it down a bit! The sun’s not out yet!” Stiles groaned when he saw the grin on his best friend’s face while John chuckled and shook his head, starting the car to take Scott home. Scott reached over to the front passenger seat and clapped Stiles’ left shoulder.

“For some it is, Stiles!” he said and Stiles rolled his eyes, sagging in his seat, although a small smile was tilting his lips.

Scott blew out a long breath and flopped back against the backrest, slipping down in his seat as he tilted his head back, unable to get the grin off of his face.

There’s always a silver lining to everything, as it seems.

**cut**

“Get some rest, son,” John murmured as he pulled Stiles in a hug, lips tilting up when the teen returned it, pressing John tightly to his young body.

“You too, dad,” Stiles whispered tightly before they parted, and John gently patted Stiles’ cheeks before making his way to his bedroom. Stiles took a deep breath, closing the door of his bedroom before making his way to the adjacent bathroom, quickly doing his nightly routine.

Once he was done, Stiles threw himself in his bed, struggling with the covers for a moment before he pulled them over his head, curling up in a ball under them, arms wrapped around his waist, eyes squeezed tightly shut, breathing ragged, shallow and quick.

Everything that had happened in the past days slammed into his mind all at once, every scene, every word rolling around in a thunderous storm of images. A choked up breath left his lips as he slapped a hand over his mouth trying to muffle the sounds escaping him, knowing that his dad would certainly come to check up on him, and Stiles didn’t want John to see him like this.

Stiles didn’t want his dad to know just how out of it he still was. It’s been a while since they got rid of the Nogitsune, and yet Stiles couldn’t find peace of mind. He was still plagued by nightmares and guilt, still jumpy and tense, still wary, and still afraid that the Nogitsune wasn’t gone, that it would appear and possess him again, make him do all those horrible things again.

Most of the time he was able to hide it. Most of the time he was able to act normal. But behind closed doors of his bedroom, Stiles was a wreck. He remembered. He remembered everything the Nogitsune had done while it was in possession of Stiles’ body. He remembered the _joy_ and _glee_ it felt as it planted seeds of chaos and pain, remembered the _desire_ for blood, the _taste_ of it, the _feel_ of it on his hands.

He remembered the _desire_ for more, the _need_ to destroy _everything_.

Sometimes those memories grew so strong that Stiles feared the Nogitsune wasn’t gone, that there was still a part of it somewhere in his mind, that somehow - in some strange way - the Nogitsune had marked his soul and that he would one day surrender to this _darkness_ plaguing his heart.

The rational part of Stiles’ mind told him that he needed to talk to someone, that he needed to let all of it go, but he couldn’t. He was afraid. He was afraid of trusting, of confiding in anyone. Even his dad and best friend.

The rational part of Stiles’ mind knew that they would understand, that they would try to find a way to help him, but something was stopping him. His doubts and his fears got in the way of him asking for help.

How long would he be able to last like this? How long would he be able to go on with just a couple of hours of sleep per night, eating only enough to make it through the day, keeping quiet when all he wanted to do was _scream,_ scream so loud that every single creature in the world would hear him? How long would he be able to keep his agony, his _pain_ hidden from those he cared about?

He could lie to them that he was alright, but he couldn’t lie to himself. He couldn’t lie to himself that he wasn’t just a scared teenage boy who was mostly _pretending_ to know what he was doing, when in fact he was just doing his best to keep his loved ones safe. He could put up a mask and pretend that he was alright in front of everyone, but all it took was for him to look into a mirror, and all of it would dissolve into nothing.

How long?

How long until something happened and he hits rock bottom again? Just this night he had gotten so close to losing it. As he watched the Berserker advancing towards his dad, Stiles came so close to just _snapping_. He was unable to do _anything_.

After all, he is only human.

How long until he would see someone he loved die? How long until he lost someone again?

How long until he would lose himself forever?

Eyes the color of late autumn leaves opened as a pained gasp escaped lush, full lips, and crystalline tears trailed down pale cheeks, lost in the darkness. Hard shivers shook the lithe body as he struggled to remain quiet, just like every other night.

No one knew just how broken he was. No one knew of the demons haunting him. And he didn’t know how much longer he would be able to go on like this. Or if he would make it at all.

**cut**

Peter closed the door of Derek’s apartment, making sure that the alarm was on, and he strutted over to the couch, flopping down without much grace before raising his hands and rubbing his face.

Everything that had happened in less than twenty-four hours since Scott walked through that door was a bit much even for him. Heavens knew what was going on with Derek. They would need to find out what Kate did to him before it's too late.

But what _really_ threw Peter out of the loop was _Harry Potter._ Peter wasn’t an idiot. He knew that Scott had left a lot out of the story he had told Peter when the young alpha came looking for him, and while Peter _could_ understand that they didn’t have time to actually sit down and discuss everything it didn’t mean that he wasn’t frustrated with everything.

His wolf had calmed down the moment Peter was in his car, but it was still growling quietly in the back of Peter’s mind. Harry’s scent was still lingering around Peter, still clinging to his skin, and it was _intoxicating_.

Peter didn’t even have to concentrate to bring forth the image of the wizard’s eyes, such a deep green that merely naming it _emerald_ didn’t do it justice. Jewels paled in comparison to that perfect shade, speaking _volumes_ of suffering and pain, of broken hopes and survival.

Something Peter could relate to.

It didn’t help that his wolf recognized Harry as _mate_ , despite Harry being a man. Peter heard of such cases, far be it from it that there were no same-sex relationships among werewolves, but for that to happen, for Peter’s wolf to react so avidly to Harry Potter, they must have had something pretty intense in the past, but _when_?

How was he supposed to figure _anything_ out if he didn’t have all the facts, if he didn’t have his memories? But when were they locked away? At what point in his life did he know Harry? How long were they together? What happened to Harry? What happened to _him_ to have made Talia lock his memories away?

 _Unfortunately_ there was only one way to get to the bottom of this, and that was to make Scott unlock Peter’s memories. Talking the young alpha into it would be somewhat difficult since none of the teens trusted him all that much. As it appeared, Harry had somehow gained their trust in a matter of days, even though - and Peter knew that the teens weren’t stupid enough not to notice - Harry appeared even _darker_ to some point than Peter.

With a sigh, Peter sat up and braced his elbows on his knees, entwining his fingers as he gazed at something only he could see in the darkness of Derek’s apartment. He would have to be patient and play his cards right if he wanted to get answers, but first things first.

He needed to find out what that _bitch_ did to his nephew.

However he may act, Peter wouldn’t allow another member of his family to die.

No matter what.

**cut**

Derek woke up slowly for the first time in quite a while, a soft groan leaving his parted lips. Awareness came steadily, starting first with the scent he immediately associated with the hospital and gradually growing to him becoming aware of a gentle hand brushing through his hair.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” a familiar voice caressed his ears and those tender fingers brushed against his right cheek. “That position can’t be comfortable.”

In that moment Derek became aware that he was sleeping in a chair, his arms folded on top of a hospital bed, his head resting on his forearms, and he slowly opened his eyes, finding a pair of focused emerald orbs looking at him with all the warmth in the world.

“Harry?” Derek mumbled as he straightened, frowning when something gathered behind him, and he found a duvet there, telling him that Melissa must have covered him last time she came to check up on Harry.

“You’ve slept like a log,” Harry commented in obvious amusement and Derek looked at him, giving Harry a good once over in search of any sign of pain.

“And you?” he asked, stretching a bit before he stood up and rotated his shoulders before cracking his neck, hearing the satisfying sound of his joints snapping into place.

“Better than I have slept in a while,” Harry answered and Derek gifted him with a small smile.

“How long have you been awake?” the werewolf spoke as he took a seat on the bed, covering Harry’s left hand with his bigger ones when the wizard placed it on one strong thigh.

“Long enough to greet Melissa when she left the night shift and covered you with that duvet and figure out that hospital TV’s worth less than _shit_.” Derek laughed quietly and shook his head, looking at Harry with obvious amusement, glancing at the muted TV, coming to a swift conclusion that Harry had turned off the sound as to make sure that Derek wouldn’t wake up before he got some rest.

“How late is it?” Derek asked and Harry hummed, snapping his fingers, and a few misty numbers appeared in the air, telling Derek that visiting hours should start soon which meant that John and Stiles could come any minute now.

“You should go home, Derek,” the werewolf frowned at Harry’s words, looking at the wizard to find him smiling at him tenderly. “You need to take a shower, have something to eat, and get some _real_ rest. Overdoing it won’t bring us anywhere, and we’ll need you in top shape.”

Derek’s eyebrows narrowed as he bowed his head a bit, frowning at the tiled floor. “I just…” he muttered and hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Harry was quiet for a long moment, just staring at Derek with raised eyebrows until realization downed on him when he had seen the small, hardly noticeable pout on Derek’s lips. Then he sighed and rolled his eyes, giving Derek’s strong thigh a gentle squeeze.

“Derek, I won’t disappear again,” Harry spoke in full certainty. “The Organization is gone. Harry Potter doesn’t exist anymore, and _believe me_ if anyone would ever want to find me again, if anyone were to even _think_ of locating me again, they would have the whole British Government breathing down their necks for the rest of their _very_ short lives.”

Derek’s eyebrows met the line of his hair and Harry chuckled, winking at Derek and shrugging his shoulders a bit.

“I have _acquaintances_ in _very_ high places that weren’t too happy when they found out that they were lied to for years,” he drawled dryly, eyes darkening a bit. “They were certain that I was under a contract, working willingly for the _betterment of the wizarding world_.” Harry rolled his eyes, although a pained line appeared to the right of his lips. “There was no way for them to prove that I had been enslaved by the Organization because there was no proof of my existence anywhere until I showed up several days after I destroyed the base of the Organization’s operations.”

“Stiles mentioned something like that,” Derek spoke quietly and Harry squinted a bit, trying to recall what he had said to the human teen. “He said that your magic went berserk when you found out what happened to us.”

Harry paled a bit at that, tongue peaking out to wet dry lips before he swallowed and nodded minutely. “I lost it. The collar they put on me the night I was taken suppressed my magic, locking it within my core. I could use it only to perform the mission under _very_ specific orders. I learned pretty soon just _how_ specific those orders were,” his voice grew raspy as he looked at his right hand. “Good thing I knew how to wield various weapons otherwise I wouldn’t have made it past my first year in the Organization.”

“Your magic is alright now, right?” Derek asked, remembering Harry once telling him that a wizard’s or a witch’s magic was more than just part of them. It _is_ them. To lock away their magic or, god forbid, seal it or take it from them meant taking their life.

“It’s far from alright,” Harry said and slowly shifted up, this time not even wincing. “Unfortunately, during the past ten years I’ve suffered many injuries that went untreated as Melissa was so kind to inform you all,” Harry chuckled and shook his head, sighing when he relaxed against the pillow, breathing a bit lighter now that he was sitting up. “I won’t have full access to my magic until it heals the damage done to my body,” he shut up, puffing his cheeks up a bit as he nodded his head from side to side, looking heavenwards, “or at least the damage not done by magic,” he added as an afterthought and Derek’s eyes widened a bit.

“Magic can’t-”

“It can’t heal what has been done by magic, especially _dark_ magic,” Harry finished for Derek who felt a spark of burning anger flash through his heart. “ _Which_ unfortunately means that my right arm will forever remain like this.” Harry waved the mentioned appendage around a bit and Derek bit the inside of his bottom lip.

Before Derek could say anything though, three strong knocks broke the silence.

“Come in!” Harry called out and the door opened, letting in John and Stiles, the two appearing surprised to find Derek there.

“Good morning! Didn’t think we’d find you here,” John spoke up, carrying a black duffel-bag over to Harry’s bed.

“I’ve just been telling Derek to go home,” Harry explained and Derek looked at him with a small glare.

“You mean he spent the night here?” Stiles asked, eyes narrowed in confusion and Derek nodded, crossing strong arms over his chest as he ducked his head a bit.

“Derek here doesn’t want me to vanish again,” Harry spoke in a teasing tone and a low growl rumbled in Derek’s chest as he glared at the wizard who merely snorted and rolled his eyes. “The mere _notion_ is - as I’ve already told Derek - utterly ridiculous. I won’t be going anywhere.” Harry’s words sounded like a promise, and it visibly made Derek’s shoulders relax.

“That’s good to hear,” John spoke as he placed the bag on the bed at Harry’s feet. “Is this what you’ve asked for?” he asked and Harry nodded, showing John to bring it closer.

“It is,” the wizard answered, accepting the bag into his lap. “Now, what’s the first line of business…” he muttered as he opened the bag, the three ending up gaping when Harry pushed his right hand in it, the appendage disappearing to Harry’s shoulder within the depths of the bag.

“What the hell…” Stiles breathed out in amazement and Harry glanced up at him, a small smirk tilting his lips.

“The bag has been charmed, Stiles. A lot of things can fit in it,” he explained shortly and Stiles’ lips formed a small ‘o’ as he crossed his arms over his chest and shifted in his place. “Damn it, where is it?” Harry grumbled into his chin, pulling his right hand out of the bag before he sat up straighter. “Derek, come closer.”

The werewolf exchanged a glance with Stiles and John before he came closer to the bed, eyebrows meeting the line of his hair when Harry buried both arms into the bag, shifting through something, only the top of the bag moving a bit.

“Where did I put it,” muttered the wizard under his breath pulling out three big, ancient looking tomes and disposing of them by all but throwing them into Derek’s arms, making the werewolf fumble a bit before he got a good hold of them.

“Is it charmed to be lighter too?” John drawled, utterly stunned when Harry seemed to pull tome after tome, one bigger than other, and after another six had been added to the ever growing pile, Derek looked somewhat choked up until he just huffed and disposed of them by putting them on a nightstand, just in time to accept another set of tomes, these neatly tucked into hard leather cases.

“Course it is,” Harry spoke in a breathy voice squinting into the bag. “I have a whole library in here, my whole wardrobe and camping gear.” The other three exchanged stunned glances, deciding not to comment on it when Harry let go of a pleased ‘a-ha!’ before pulling out a small, round mirror.

“What is that?” Stiles asked as he rushed over to the bed, curiosity getting the better of him, and Harry raised an eyebrow at the human teen as he gave the bag to Derek who placed it on the ground.

“It’s a communication mirror,” Harry said and showed the small round thing to Stiles. It was big enough to fit into Harry’s hand, the reflective surface appearing utterly normal. “One of the ways wizards and witches communicate, if not the fastest.”

“Should you really be contacting anyone in the Wizarding World?” John spoke, frowning in worry and Harry snorted, shifting a bit in his bed and taking the mirror with both hands.

“I’m contacting one of the people who helped me get out of there. He’s basically the one who had kept me alive through all of this.” John approached the bed, while Stiles and Derek leaned closer, and Harry just sighed and shook his head. “Overprotective mother hens, _all_ of you,” he muttered into his chin, not seeing the other three rolling their eyes at him.

“Who is this guy?” Derek asked, making Harry glance at him.

“He was my partner in MI6 before I came to Beacon Hills,” Harry explained.

“Unspeakables or MI6?” Stiles asked for clarification and Harry hummed, turning the mirror three times clockwise and once counter, making the three recoil slightly when the reflective surface rippled.

“MI6,” Harry answered distractedly, passing with his right hand over the mirror and murmuring something unintelligible before tapping it twice with his index finger. “Agent Samuel McAvoy,” he spoke clearly and firmly, the other three leaning closer, their eyes widening when the mirror glimmered silver a few times before a face of a man in his thirties appeared in it, brown, thin eyebrows raised and mirthful grey eyes full of honest surprise.

“Well isn’t this a surprise,” Agent McAvoy spoke in a soothing, deep, husky voice. “In all honestly, I thought I’d never hear from you again, Potter! Or should I call you Prewitt now?”

“Cut the crap, Sam,” Harry spoke, voice full of amusement, and _Sam_ chuckled lowly, shaking his head. “You know I would have called you eventually. It’s been a busy week.”

“If I have to take a wild guess - since you’re wearing a _white_ shirt and that bruise looks quite fresh - I’d say you’ve managed to land yourself in a hospital. You sure work fast, mate.”

Stiles, John and Derek exchanged smirks before looking at Harry, who actually appeared somewhat sheepish for a moment, before he sighed and shook his head.

“That doesn’t really matter right now,” Harry changed the subject - something he was obviously prone to doing if Sam rolling his eyes at Harry was any indication - and shifted in his seat a bit. “I needed to know if all my accounts have been transferred.”

“Everything was done according to your wishes,” Sam answered, nodding. “Harry James Potter is officially dead. We needed to go quite high up to erase you from existence, mate. The Wizarding World of Britain is in complete disarray. We’ve told your story. You’re officially a martyr. We’re waiting for the higher ups to proclaim a damn national holiday in your name,” he drawled in clear sarcasm and Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“As long as no one comes looking for me they can bloody well put my statue in the middle of the Atrium in the Ministry,” Harry pressed out through his teeth and Sam snorted.

“As a matter of fact, I think there are plans for that,” he answered dryly. “But for real now. We’ve handled what was left of the Organization. I know you probably don’t want to hear this, Ry, but we _are_ sorry that it took us nine years and you blowing half of Wales up to get shit done.”

John, Stiles and Derek gaped at Harry, but it all went unseen by the wizard who paled suddenly, shoulders tensing up.

“Have you found any traces…”

“Don’t, Ry,” Sam cut Harry off and shook his head. “They organized it all. They enslaved you. They took _everything_ from you. They don’t deserve a single thought from you.”

Harry swallowed audibly, nodding weakly in silent acceptance.

“We caught everyone who escaped. All their data will be erased and they will be judged for National Treason both in the Wizarding and the Muggle world. They can kiss their magic and their freedom goodbye. The Queen had put an Act to vote, and the Ministry of Magic will be replaced by the Council of Elders, and no decisions will be made without her full consent,” Sam reported, voice full of certainty and warmth as those stormy eyes stared at Harry from the mirror with something that was dangerously close to honest love.

“Thank you, Sam,” Harry spoke in a slightly strained voice. “I don’t know if I would have made it without you.”

“I owe you a lot more, Ry,” Sam answered, gifting the wizard with a small smile. “Now, I’m in the middle of my shift, so we might want to do this quickly.”

“Sure,” Harry cleared his throat, and straightened. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Whatever you need, Ry, you know that,” Sam nodded, suddenly deadly serious.

“Since I’m stuck in the hospital, I need you to extract seventy thousand American dollars from my smallest account and transfer it to Braeden Malloy’s account. We’ve already worked with her, so you have her data.”

“Wait, seventy thousand?” Stiles jumped in, making Sam frown because he didn’t know Harry wasn’t alone.

“Harry, who’s there with you?” Sam asked warily and Harry shook his head.

“A few friends,” Harry offered as an explanation. “I’ve been helping them handle a situation here,” Harry looked at Stiles, finding the teen frowning at him. “I don’t want to owe Braeden _anything_ ,” the wizard stressed out and Stiles hummed, taking a step back while Harry looked at the mirror again, finding Sam staring at him with a dark glare full of warnings.

“If that _situation_ had anything to do with you ending up in a hospital, I don’t think they and I will get along all that well,” Sam growled and Harry looked at Derek when the werewolf choked up a bit and shifted in his place.

“Sam, I’m _fine_ ,” Harry insisted. “Just some bruising. I’ll be out of here in two days tops.” Sam stared in Harry’s eyes for a long moment, lips pursed in obvious displeasure.

“You know very well that you’re not supposed to use magic for _at least_ six more months, Harry,” Sam pressed out tightly, and Harry sighed.

“And _you_ know that I can’t sit aside while an innocent is getting hurt,” Harry answered calmly, not really paying attention to the three shocked men staring at him in worry.

Sam let go of a long breath and shook his head. “Just tell me that you didn’t use magic excessively,” he spoke tiredly, as though they had many similar discussions in the past and Harry cleared his throat, looking properly scolded. “Harry…” Sam pressed out threateningly.

“Just some light healing and cleaning charms,” Harry blurted out and Sam’s frown darkened. “Alright, and I apparated once or twice!” the wizard snapped and Sam groaned, looking heavenwards.

“God, Harry, you will be the death of me,” he spoke in a suffering way.

“That doesn’t matter right now, Sam,” Harry answered seriously, and Sam must have heard something in Harry’s tone because grey eyes widened minutely and his lips stretched in a thin line. “Now, make sure that the money’s on Braeden’s account by Friday. I don’t want her harping on my neck.”

“Will do,” Sam answered, nodding minutely. “Anything else?”

“I’ll contact you again if I think of something,” Harry answered, shaking his head, and Sam sighed, looking at Harry imploringly.

“Harry, please be careful. A lot of people went out of their way to keep you alive, and-”

“There’s no need to guilt-trip me, Sam,” Harry spoke seriously, voice laced with something heavy, something no one could name. “I know to what lengths you went to bring me out of Britain and make me disappear.”

“We just don’t want to see you hurt, Ry,” Sam answered only to huff a moment later and rub his eyes with his fingers. “Look, you need your rest and I have work to do. I’ll have the money transferred latest tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Harry said, voice growing softer as his lips tilted up into a small smile. “Don’t know where I’d be without you, mate.”

“Same place I’d be without you, Ry,” Sam spoke, voice dripping with irony, eyes shadowed with something no one could name, “most probably dead in a dump somewhere.”

Harry let go of a subdued, tired, quiet laugh and shook his head. “Take care, mate,” he spoke warmly. “I’ll hear from you later.”

“Take care.” The surface of the mirror rippled and Sam’s face disappeared, and heavy silence settled over the room.

“Who is he?” Derek was the first to speak up as Harry placed his hands in his lap, thumbs tracing the outer edges of the mirror.

“Sam and I were partners back before I came to Beacon Hills,” Harry spoke in a slightly hoarse voice. “Basically, he was the one who gave me the map of the world and a dart saying _‘just get out of here, mate, before you get killed for something that has nothing to do with you anymore’_.” Harry snorted and shook his head, caressing the cold surface of the mirror with trembling fingers. “Right after I told him that I could never be with him because I loved him like a brother.”

“He still loves you,” Derek spoke with a small frown marring his handsome features and Harry looked at him from the corner of his eyes, lips tilted in a small, knowing smile. “That much is obvious even to me.” Stiles and John nodded in agreement even though Harry couldn’t see them.

“I know,” Harry said, covering the mirror with his hand. “He saved my life two years ago. I had just faced that vampire that tried to kill me with a pipe. Since I couldn’t apparate, couldn’t use my magic, I thought it was over for me.” He took a deep breath and held it for a moment, eyes sliding closed. “I don’t know by what _higher power_ or something he was there,” the other three exchanged glances and Harry ducked his head. “He said that he was on a mission and that he was in the area on pure accident. Found me bleeding out in the middle of a backstreet. He brought me to the apartment he rented and called in his handler. _Somehow_ , they managed to patch me up.”

The wizard raised his head tilting it back, eyes still closed and lips quivering a bit.

“The Organization found me before I could properly thank him or talk to him. He was the first one I contacted after I got away. He has a beautiful wife now and a seven month old baby girl. He’s happy and settled, and I _hate_ asking this of him, but he is the only one back in good ol’ England I trust not to stab me in the back.”

Harry took a deep breath, shook his head, straightened, licked his lips and glanced around, pointedly avoiding looking at either of the other three.

“But that doesn’t matter,” he spoke placing the mirror beside his right thigh before he grabbed the duffel-bag again. “We need to figure out what Kate did to Derek. I have a lot of books and it’ll be faster if someone volunteers to work with me-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” John interjected, raising his hands, and Harry finally looked at him. “You’re _healing_. _We_ will do research. _You_ will sleep.”

“John, I won’t heal any faster if I sleep the day away, and _this_ way I’ll be at least doing something useful,” Harry countered, tone leaving no room for argument.

“And I’ll help,” Stiles spoke hurriedly, exchanging a glance with Derek and his dad. “We’ll be done faster.”

“I’ll stay too,” Derek agreed, only for Harry to shake his head at him.

“While I have nothing against that, you _need_ to get home and rest for real,” Harry said and Derek frowned at him, _obviously_ not liking that idea. “Derek,” Harry looked in the werewolf’s eyes imploringly, “we don’t know what’s going on with you. I don’t want to panic and I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but we can’t know how _fast_ whatever she did to you will advance or even if it _will_ advance, but we can’t risk it.”

“Sleep and rest won’t slow it down,” Derek insisted, _really_ uncomfortable with leaving Harry’s side as it appeared.

“But _losing_ sleep and straining yourself might make it advance,” Harry reasoned, looking at Derek imploringly. “Trust me, Derek; I’ve seen good men die because they weren’t careful enough when they should have been. _Go home_ ,” he stressed out. “Get some rest, and then you can come back and help us figure this out.”

“Harry’s right, Derek,” Stiles agreed with the wizard and Derek frowned at him, apparently hurt that Stiles wasn’t siding with him on this. “We need - _you_ need to be careful.”

Derek ducked his head a bit, glaring at the ground, rolling their words through his mind. Sure, he could understand why they were so worried about him. He understood why they were telling him to go home and rest, but…

“Derek?” the werewolf raised his head and looked at Harry when he felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder, and his eyes met a pair of emerald orbs, full of concern and care. “Please,” Harry urged quietly, “for me. Go home and rest. Have something good to eat, take a nice long shower, and _sleep_. Turn off your phone, lock your door, and when you’re well rested, come back, okay?”

“ _Don’t_ turn off your phone, though,” Stiles blurted out and everyone looked at him with almost matching frowns making the teen recoil slightly. “I mean, something might happen and-”

“And we’ll know where to find him if it does,” Harry cut Stiles off, looking strictly in the teen’s eyes, and Stiles ducked his head, shifting his weight and clearing his throat.

“Right,” he mumbled and stepped away a bit, and while John shook his head with a quiet groan and rubbed his face with his right hand, Harry and Derek exchanged a glance, both confused by Stiles’ actions.

“I need to go to work,” John spoke in a slightly tight voice, turning to look at Harry while Stiles stopped beside the window, moving the drapes to the side a bit to look out at the street. “I’ll come after my shift to see if you guys will need any help, alright?”

“Sure,” Harry answered and nodded and John, tilting his head to the side a bit when he saw John hesitate. A moment later, the sheriff moved forward and wrapped Harry into a tight hug, surprising the bedridden wizard for a mere second before he returned it albeit not as strongly as John.

“Don’t overdo it,” John mumbled, glancing at his son before he shook his head again and left, closing the door on his way out.

“I’ll go then,” Derek spoke quietly and Harry gifted him with a grateful smile.

“Be careful, okay?” he answered in a voice hardly above a whisper, and Derek moved in without any hesitance, wrapping his arms around Harry who returned the hug as strongly as he could.

“You too,” Derek said, glancing at Stiles before he left as well.

Once the door closed behind Derek, Harry took a deep breath and looked at Stiles, the teen having sunk so deep into his thoughts that he didn’t notice that he had been left alone with the wizard. It was great to one point because that had given Harry the chance to really _look_ at the boy for the first time since he came to Beacon Hills.

Harry remembered Stiles as a little boy, hyperactive and happy, extremely intelligent in a way that made the adults around him have to sit and actually _think_ of an answer to Stiles’ questions. Even as a little pipsqueak, Stiles was good at asking the right questions, albeit not at the right time.

Harry had grown to love Stiles within _hours_ after first meeting him. Stiles was unlike any child Harry had ever seen, and it didn’t take long for Harry to start imagining how it would be being there as Stiles grew up. He had come to care for Stiles - he started _loving_ him like he would his own flesh and blood, and the thought that he would never again see him broke his heart.

Or what was left of it after Harry realized that the chance of anything ever existing between him and Peter again was nonexistent.

But standing in front of him was not that child. Stiles had changed, and Harry feared that it was not for the better. Stiles, Scott, Lydia and Kira had only skimmed through the _Nogitsune Incident_ as they called it in an attempt to brush it off, but Harry wasn’t an idiot.

Stiles had been possessed by a powerful, blood-thirsty demon. He had suffered something _horrible_. There was no way in hell he was handling it as well as it seemed.

“Stiles?” Harry called out as gently as he could, but Stiles jumped in his place never the less, turning to look at Harry and glancing around the room in obvious shock.

“Where are they?” he asked and Harry gifted Stiles with a small smile.

“They left a couple of minutes ago,” said the wizard as he moved the small mirror over to the nightstand before lightly patting the bed to his right. “Come here,” he invited Stiles over and the teen frowned in confusion, arms crossed over his chest as he slowly approached the bed. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite.” Harry smirked at the teen and Stiles scoffed and rolled his eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Stiles took a seat to Harry’s right, more than obviously tense, and Harry tilted his head to the right, observing Stiles quietly for a few long moments. Full, lush lips pursed a bit as Stiles stared back at Harry, trying to figure out what the older man was thinking, but coming up with nothing.

Harry’s expression was unreadable, although his eyes glimmered with something warm and comforting - a feat Stiles didn’t know how Harry managed.

“Tell me, Stiles,” Harry spoke warmly, hands lying relaxed in his lap, “when was the last time you had a good night of sleep?”

Taken aback Stiles recoiled, staring at Harry wide-eyed and confused. Not even _Scott_ asked him that, _or_ his dad, and they knew Stiles best. How did this man come to asking that question when he didn’t really know Stiles?”

“I slept last night,” Stiles answered tightly, and Harry hummed, nodding minutely.

“I know you did,” he said, pointedly staring in Stiles’ eyes, “but _how_ you slept is another thing.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles spoke flatly, feeling that they were moving into dangerous territory and wanting to get out of it as quickly as possible. He all but jumped off of the bed, rounded it and grabbed the first old tome he could find, opening it and leafing through it under Harry’s watchful gaze.

“I know you’re fine,” those words surprised Stiles into stopping his pacing. He looked at Harry who stared at the teen with a knowing, shadowed gaze. “I know because I’m fine too.”

Stiles’ lips parted a bit, his hold on the tome easing up as he lowered his hands, trying to figure out what Harry was saying.

“As a matter of fact I’ve always _been_ fine,” Harry shrugged almost carelessly. “I was fine when my aunt and uncle locked me up in the cupboard under the stairs without food or water because they hated magic.” Stiles’ eyes widened and his breath hitched in his throat, heartbeat stuttering. “I was fine when every single person in Hogwarts thought that I was evil because I could speak to snakes. I was fine when I saw a seventeen year old boy _die_ right in front of me because he was a _spare_.”

Harry looked into Stiles’ eyes and the teen felt as though he was physically hit, because the shadows in Harry’s eyes spoke _volumes_ of just how _fine_ he was.

“I was _fine_ when my godfather fell through the Veil of Death because of a mistake I made. I was _fine_ when my mentor was killed in front of me. I was _fine_ when I walked down the Great Hall of Hogwarts after the last battle between bodies of all those who didn’t make it.”

Harry tilted his head to the right a bit, looking at Stiles but not really seeing him. The teen swallowed thickly, shifting his weight, feeling as though the wizard was stripping him layer after layer with each word he said. It felt as though Harry had found each sensitive nerve in Stiles’ body and was hitting it with the sharpest, thinnest needle in the world, unraveling something Stiles had tried so hard to suppress.

“I am fine, Séaghdha,” Harry spoke in a tight voice, guttural even, and Stiles almost heard Harry force down a heavy swallow, “I am fine even now, and I’ll always _be_ fine, and do you know why?”

 _No, I don’t,_ was the first thing that flashed through Stiles’ mind. He didn’t _want_ to know. He didn’t want to know because then he would have to admit it to himself. He would have to admit that he _wanted_ to let it all out, that he _wanted_ to vent to someone and then go on pretending that everything was just fine.

But he knew that it wouldn’t be possible. If he were to show everything that was weighing down on him, if he were to show the broken _thing_ he had become, there would be no going back. He would have to face it all.

And yes, he preferred this miserable existence, he preferred pretending that he was fine, because then no one would know that he _wasn’t_. No one would know just how broken he was, and no one would suffer or worry about him.

 _But how long_ , he thought to himself, looking deep into those knowing emerald depths staring at him as though Harry knew _exactly_ what Stiles was thinking, and if there was _any_ truth to Harry’s words, then he knew.

Harry _knew_ what Stiles was thinking, because he has had the same thoughts. He _still_ thinks the same even after all those years.

“Why?” Stiles pressed out over every single fiber of his being fighting that simple word, fighting to suppress the need to know, the need to find someone who would tell him what to do, because he was _just fine._

“Because telling someone that I’m _not_ fine, _admitting_ that I’m not alright, that I’m a broken, miserable _mess_ of a man would make it real,” Harry spoke as though they were talking about the weather, as though it was the most normal thing in the world to be like this, to be broken.

“Admitting that I’m _not_ fine would make it _real_ , and it would make the people around me worry, it would make them want to _help_ me when really, there is no helping me.”

A shiver passed down Stiles’ spine and he ducked his head, looking at the tome held loosely in his hands. Such an old tattered thing, practically falling apart, _damaged_ beyond repair, and yet it was still useful. This old tome may still find its purpose. It might still be helpful.

“Stiles?” the teen looked up when his name was spoken with such tenderness, such _care_ that it shook something deep within him. Harry gifted him with a small smile, and Stiles’ hold on the tome grew stronger, something he hadn’t felt in a while now sparking to life in his heart. “We’ll always be fine,” Harry spoke warmly and Stiles took a step closer to the bed, shoulders slowly straightening, and a smile full of quiet pride tilted Harry’s lips. “We can never say that we’re _not_ fine, but admitting that we’re _damaged_? That’s a different set of things.”

“Why?” Stiles breathed out, approaching Harry as though in a trance, his heartbeat picking up speed with something that was neither anxiety nor panic.

“You were _damaged_ by what you’ve lived through, Séaghdha,” Harry spoke in a voice hardly above a whisper, and hardly aware that he did it Stiles took a sideways seat on the bed to Harry’s left, staring at the wizard as though he was revealing the biggest secret in the world to the teen. “You suffer from it. You have nightmares. It haunts you. You don’t want to go back to it.”

Harry covered Stiles’ hands with his own, leaning closer to the teen and looking deep into those darkened amber eyes.

“You are damaged,” Harry spoke, and although his words were spoken in a quiet voice, there was a subtle strength to them, something that filled Stiles’ heart and soul with something he couldn’t yet name, but it was akin to something he knew as _strength_. “And you’ll always be _fine_.”

“How?” Stiles’ voice broke, growing raspy and strained as his body was wrecked by shivers.

“Damaged people are dangerous, Stiles,” Harry spoke darkly, eyes shadowing with something threatening, but Stiles didn’t feel endangered. In fact, he felt somehow _lighter_. “Do you know why?”

Stiles shook his head, unable to push the words past his lips. Harry raised his hands and cupped Stiles’ face within them, caressing pale cheeks with his thumbs.

“Damaged people are dangerous, Séaghdha,” Harry whispered strongly, “because they know that they can _survive_.” Stiles’ eyes widened and he held his breath when Harry’s lips tilted up. “And that’s why we’ll always be _fine_. Because we survived, and we’ll keep on surviving.”

After what felt like hours, Stiles slowly breathed out, something stinging his eyes. Harry moved back a bit and took the tome from Stiles’ hands, putting it aside before he glanced around with a light squint.

“Now, hand me those three leather bound books,” Harry spoke, all traces of the intense presence practically gone, and Stiles felt as though he was slapped back into reality. “We’ll start from them.”

Not knowing what to say Stiles jumped to his feet and hurriedly took the tomes, giving one to Harry and taking another for himself, placing the third on Harry’s legs.

“There will probably be parts in ancient Latin or Greek so just mark those parts if you find anything connected to our current situation in paragraphs before them and I’ll check them out later,” Harry spoke as he opened his book.

“You speak ancient Latin and Greek?” the teen asked, utterly amazed, and Harry looked up at him with a cocked eyebrow.

“I speak thirteen languages not including ancient Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Aramaic, Egyptian and Sumerian.” Stiles’ eyes widened as Harry counted the languages, lips tilted in a smirk, and the wizard shifted in his seat, settling to start on his tome.

“When did you have time to _learn_ all that?” Stiles murmured, eyes wide with amazement.

“Well I wasn’t _always_ on missions for the Organization,” Harry shrugged almost carelessly. “And when I wasn’t I had do to _something_ with my time, so I studied languages. Always _was_ a quick learner.”

In that moment someone knocked on the door opening them without waiting for an answer, and a nurse Stiles vaguely recognized recoiled slightly at the sight of the many tomes around Stiles and Harry.

“Mr. Prewitt!” she gushed, fisting her hands on her waist. “You’re supposed to be _resting_!” Harry gifted the nurse with a winning smile, eyes glimmering mischievously.

“I’m not doing anything strenuous, Ms. Johnson,” he spoke lightly and winked at Stiles, the teen seeing the man he had first met in the station almost a week ago, understanding a bit better what Harry had said earlier. “I’m just helping Stiles here with some research for an assignment. I hope it’s not a problem.”

Nurse Johnson sighed and shook her head, her lips tilting up a bit. “I guess it’s not a problem,” she said, and Stiles had a hard time stopping himself from rolling his eyes when Harry smiled at the nurse, tilting his head to the right a bit. “As long as you don’t do anything strenuous.”

“I promise I’ll be a good boy,” Harry drawled, winking at the nurse, and Stiles actually gaped when she blushed, clearing her throat and shifting in her place a bit.

“Like I said,” she spoke, already inching out of the room, “as long as you’re feeling alright and take a break when you feel tired, Mr. Stiles can stay.”

“Thank you, Ms. Johnson,” Harry answered, the infamous British charm obviously working its magic. “I promise; I’m feeling perfectly fine.”

Stiles laughed quietly, ducking his head, thus missing the nurse closing the door on her way out and Harry looking at Stiles with a knowing smirk.

“Come on, let’s get to it,” Harry said and Stiles straightened in his seat with a deep intake of breath.

And as they sunk into the words written on the aged pages of the ancient tomes, the world outside continued in its own pace, most of it unaware and unknowing of everything magical and dangerous inhabiting the same green earth.

**cut**

_“Damaged people are dangerous.  
They know they can survive.”_

_\- Josephine Hart_

**cut**

**I hope you liked it!!**

**Bit of a filler chapter, but we can’t have drama and angst happening all the time, right!**

**See you next time in ‘Beacon’.**


	10. Beacon

**cut**

_“Names and attributes must be accommodated to the essence of things and not the essence to the names,_   
_since things come first and names afterwards.”_

_\- Galileo Galilei_

**cut**

Harry and Stiles were startled by the door opening, breaking the silence filled with occasional turning of old, yellowed pages, soft breathing and hardly audible hums.

“Wow…” Scott looked around the room with wide eyes, seeing the many books strewn around, open on specific pages which meant very little to him since he had hardly _any_ idea what the two were doing.

“Scott! We weren’t expecting you,” Harry greeted warmly, marking the page he had been reading and closing the book with Stiles copying his actions.

“I didn’t have anything to do so I thought I’d come with mom since she’s starting her shift,” Scott answered as he walked over to the chair occupied by Stiles, taking his jacket off in stride and hanging it neatly on the back of the chair before he braced his hands on it and looked at the title of the book Stiles has been reading. “ _Sacrifices to Gods and Benefits of Sacrificing a Virgin?_ ”

Scott raised his head, confusion written all over his face, trying to both understand the title of the ancient looking tome and figure out what it could _ever_ have to do with their current situation.

“I don’t think I follow,” the young alpha spoke dryly and while Stiles snorted and shook his head, Harry merely smirked, eyes glimmering knowingly. “While Kate _could_ have wanted to sacrifice Derek, I sincerely _doubt_ he’s in any way a virgin.”

“Virginity doesn’t necessarily mean a person who never had sexual intercourse,” Harry clarified and Scott’s eyebrows met the line of his hair. “It can also represent a person independent of the opposite gender, capable of standing on their own without need of being defined by another person. I sincerely doubt that _Aphrodite_ was a virgin in the _modern_ sense of the word, and yet in ancient times a lot of goddesses were called virgins despite having had intercourse and given birth to various other gods.”

“Oh…” Scott raised his right hand and scratched the back of his head, looking utterly confused. “Does that mean Derek _does_ fall into that category?”

“We don’t really know,” Stiles jumped in, exchanging a smirk with Harry who chuckled quietly and shook his head, taking the glass of water off of the nightstand and taking a sip before he relaxed against the pillows with an easy sigh. “We’re actually grasping at straws here, reading everything that may in any way be connected to what happened to Derek. So far we’ve found nothing.”

Scott frowned and looked at Harry, finding the wizard staring intently at the cup, the clear liquid within it sloshing slowly against the sides as Harry rotated the cup.

“Whatever she did to Derek has either never been done before or it’s one of the ancient rituals that had long gone out of memory,” Harry spoke, weighing each word, and it was quite obvious to both teens that the wizard was coming up with various theories even then. “I know that Tezcatlipoca was depicted with many varying abilities. The one we can even _remotely_ connect with our current problem is the ability -- according to legends -- to take on the form of a turkey in which he could then cleanse people of contamination, enable them to overcome their fate, and absolve them of guilt.”

Harry let go of a heavy breath and rubbed his eyes with his right hand, sliding lower against the pillows and making Stiles and Scott frown in worry. “Then again, Tezcatlipoca could also tempt people into self-destruction. _Black_ Tezcatlipoca is also associated with death, which is in no way reassuring, to be perfectly honest.”

“None of it makes sense,” Stiles said, slumping in his seat, the tome he had been reading resting in his lap as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Except the part with _death_ , why would Kate want to give Derek a chance to _heal and be absolved of guilt_?” the teen sounded frustrated and confused, and Scott shifted his gaze from Stiles to Harry, eyebrows narrowing when the wizard rubbed his lips with scarred fingers, squinting at something only he could see.

“Unless…” Harry murmured, making Stiles look up, the human teen’s shoulders tensing. “Unless she didn’t know the full extent of the ritual she used. But how did she even find out about the magic of La Iglesia?” the wizard started whispering into his chin, making the teens feel as though he was merely thinking aloud having forgotten that he had company.

“The Bestiary…” Stiles breathed out, eyes going wide, and Harry seemed to snap out of his thoughts, looking at the teen with a narrow-eyed stare.

“Bestiary?” he asked, slightly confused. “Don’t you mean Grimoire?”

“What’s a _Grimoire_?” Scott asked with a wrinkled nose.

“It’s a book on magic, symbolism and various creatures,” Harry answered, shrugging his right shoulder lightly, taking a deep breath before he continued his explanation. “Most wizards and witches have at least _one_ Grimoire at home for various uses. The oldest one in our world dates as far back as ten centuries before the new era, although most Grimoires have been concealed from magic-less people to protect them. Those who were left in your world for usage are more fiction than fact, and the oldest ones you have are based on rituals performed by priests, shamans and such.”

“I’ve heard of them, well _read_ about them mostly,” Stiles corrected himself quickly, shifting a bit in his seat. “ _Key of Solomon_ can be found easily-” the teen stopped speaking when Harry scoffed and shook his head.

“Please,” he drawled, rolling his eyes. “ _Key of Solomon_ was written by a squib that dabbled in Dark Magic and thought he would be able to conquer the world by summoning demons. Sure, it _is_ possible to use the rituals in the books, but to actually _summon a demon_? You need more than a few magical words, and herbs, and a sigil painted on the ground with second-grade ingredients and a bit of _will_ and _faith_.”

Stiles snickered and exchanged a glance with Scott who shifted his weight and crossed his arms over his chest, lips tilted up in a small smirk.

“Well, as fun as it would be to have you go on a triad about what you think about _Grimoires_ , I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing,” Stiles drawled dryly and Harry hned, looking at Stiles with a small, teasing glare. “The Bestiary is a book the Argents have compiled about every creature they have ever hunted. Kate could have gotten the idea from it.” Harry frowned in contemplation, lightly grasping his chin between his right index finger and thumb, humming thoughtfully and tilting his head to the right a bit.

“For how long have the Argents been in the hunting business?” asked the wizard after a few long minutes of contemplative silence.

“Since the eighteenth century,” Scott was quick to answer and Harry looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Only about three hundred years?” he asked, and neither Scott nor Stiles could actually decide if he was impressed or appalled.

“Lydia has the complete copy of it,” Stiles supplied. “It’s in ancient Latin and she’s been translating it for us, but she didn’t get far with everything that’s been going on.”

“Could you ask her to bring it to me? I might work a bit quicker,” Harry asked and Scott immediately pulled out his phone.

“I’ll ask her if she’s free,” Scott said, dialing Lydia’s number, “maybe she can bring it over during the visiting hours.”

“It’s already so late?” Stiles frowned, turning to look at Harry who snapped the fingers of his right hand, eyebrows rising when he realized how late it already was.

“Time sure flies,” muttered the wizard and flapped his right hand through the misty numbers making them disappear while Stiles simply gaped at the small show of practical magic.

“Hey, Lydia?” the two looked at Scott when he spoke up, and the young alpha turned to look at them. “Are you free right now?” Scott waited while Lydia answered, a small smile tilting his lips and he winked at the other two. “That’s _great_. Would you mind coming over to the hospital? And bring the Bestiary with you.”

Scott nodded at the other two while Lydia answered him, and Stiles and Harry exchanged a glance, finally feeling as though they were getting somewhere.

“See you soon, then,” Scott ended the call and took a deep breath as he tucked his phone inside the back pocket of his jeans. “She’ll be here in an hour tops.”

“Good,” Harry said and shifted around a bit, downing his water before he placed the empty cup on the nightstand and took the book he had been reading before Scott arrived. “We might as well go back to research while we wait.”

“Is there anything I can start on?” Scott asked, moving the other chair closer to the bed while Stiles went back to his own old tome.

“You can take one of the books on the nightstand,” Harry answered distractedly and Scott moved to do what he was told. “If you run into a language you don’t understand and prior paragraphs are connected to anything similar to our situation, just mark the passage and I’ll check it out later.”

“Sure,” Scott said as he took a seat in his chair, eyebrows rising at the title of the book he had taken. “ _Blood Rituals and Why Not To Dabble in Dark Arts’_?” Scott mumbled under his breath. “This is insane-”

“Shhhhh!” the other two hissed at Scott and he blushed furiously, shifting in his seat until he got as comfortable as he could. Glancing up he found the other two already nose deep in their respective tomes, and a small smile tilted Scott’s lips before he took a deep breath and started on the first paragraph.

Suffice to say, it didn’t take him long to realize that he had absolutely _no idea_ what he was reading.

**cut**

Peter closed the book he had just finished and turned to the side to look at the spiral staircase leading to the upper floor where Derek’s bedroom was. His nephew had arrived to the apartment looking worse for wear, hardly sparing a _glance_ in Peter’s direction before muttering something about taking a shower and going to bed and not being disturbed.

Seeing that Derek had started to look like death warmed over, Peter decided it was wise not to comment on it and simply let the younger werewolf get some obviously much needed rest.

In the end, Peter had other things to worry about. He went through every single piece of information he had gathered from various sources and found absolutely _nothing_ on how to handle their current situation.

The only conclusion he had made was that Kate was either really desperate or she didn’t know what she was doing exactly, none of which really helped, and Peter was slowly running out of ideas.

Well…

Not really.

Right now there were _two_ men who could actually help him, one of which would close the door in Peter’s face before he’d have time to say ‘hello’. The _other_ one was bed bound in a hospital, so Peter’s chances of actually _getting_ somewhere were quite a bit higher, _if_ \- that is - _Mr. Potter_ proved to be a little more willing to cooperate by granting Peter such information than he is with actually telling Peter what they had and _when_ they had it.

With a heavy sigh Peter got up and grabbed his brown leather jacket, pulling it on elegantly as he made his way towards the door. Making sure they were good and locked, he walked out of the apartment building and got into his car, starting on the way to the hospital.

 _Maybe_ he would even get a clue or two about this _other_ mystery.

You never know what life might throw at you.

**cut**

Scott, Stiles and Harry looked up from their respective books when the door opened and Lydia walked in, closing the door along the way before huffing and rolling her eyes at the sight of books strewn _everywhere_.

“You’re not a really tidy bunch, are you?” she commented, walking proudly over to the bed and placing her purse at Harry’s feet, immediately digging through it to take out the copied pages of the Bestiary.

“It’s called a creative mess,” Stiles drawled, smirking at the banshee who scoffed and rolled her eyes, throwing a few locks of strawberry blond hair over her shoulder as she handed the Bestiary to Harry.

“I’ve only translated the things we’ve had to face until now,” she said while Harry placed the tome he had been reading to the side, accepting the Bestiary from Lydia and leafing through it, his nose wrinkling after several pages.

“This is horrible,” he muttered, squinting at some lines. _“Werewolves are rabid monsters without control, and it is best to slay them while they are in their human form?”_ he read from the page. “Just because most werewolves can’t control their urges three nights in a month doesn’t make them _monsters_ ,” he grumbled under his breath, quickly flipping through the pages. “The Argents may be one of the strongest hunter families in the business, but they sure are a bit fanatic in their beliefs if this is how everything’s done with them.”

“You don’t have to tell _us_ about it,” Stiles muttered, ducking his head, and Harry raised an eyebrow at them, finding the teens looking at the ground with sad expressions on their faces.

It didn’t take long for Harry to remember their story about Allison Argent, and he took a deep breath, closing the Bestiary and placing it in his lap. “Your friend didn’t die for nothing,” he told them, the three looking at him with confused expressions. “According to what you’ve told me, she didn’t have it easy, especially once her mother died because she couldn’t see past this _Code_ of theirs. The fact _is_ that most hunters are self-righteous bastards who don’t see further than their own idiocy, and a great deal of them ended up in the business hating the werewolves and other creatures because one of them hurt or killed someone the hunters loved.”

Harry stopped and took a deep breath, laying his hands down on top of the Bestiary, lips pursing a bit as though he was carefully choosing his words.

“But not _all_ hunters are like that,” he finally said and looked at the teens with a small smile. “Your friend wasn’t like that. She fought for what she believed in and died a hero, and that’s how you should remember her. As your first love,” he glanced at Scott who ducked his head, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, “as your best friend,” Lydia’s lips tilted up into a small smile as she nodded minutely, and Harry gifted her with a small smile before turning to Stiles, “as an inspiration as to how to be strong.”

Stiles couldn’t stop his lips from tilting up, something in his heart shifting and a breath of relief washing over him as he looked at Scott and Lydia.

“Besides,” Harry spoke up again, shifting in his seat a bit, “the ones we’ve lost are never truly gone. The memories of them, the experiences we’ve had with them, the feelings we’ve had for them stay with us forever, and _that-_ ” his lips tilted in a small smirk as he shrugged his shoulders, “if you ask me - is a really comforting thought.”

Before any of the three teens could say anything, two strong knocks drew their attention to the door, and Lydia and Stiles frowned while Scott stood up and walked to stand in front of the bed, Harry suddenly tensing up.

“Harry-”

“Come in!” Harry called out, interrupting Scott who looked at the wizard with a confused frown, the other two teens going rigid when the door opened and Peter walked in, cocking an eyebrow as he closed the door and stopped in front of them, crossing strong arms over his chest. He looked as he always did; cool and suave, presenting a rolling presence that said he was meant to be exactly where he was -- like it was all predestined in a grand design.

“Didn’t know there was a gathering,” the older man droned with a smirk and a quirk of a brow drawing attention to those intense blue eyes of his.

“Peter,” Harry was the first to speak up, more than obviously taken aback by Peter’s appearance, but doing his best to remain calm and collected, “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

Peter hummed, lips pursed, and he lowered his arms before clasping his hands behind his back, glancing around the room with a scrutinizing stare and taking a few steps forward. “I see you’ve been doing your own bit of researching.” He stopped just a few steps in front of Scott who appeared unwilling to move out of Peter’s way, making the older werewolf smirk at him.

“We’re trying to find out what exactly Kate did to Derek and how to stop it from advancing any further,” Harry answered and the teens looked at him with almost matching frowns only to have him shake his head at them, gifting them with a small, knowing, grateful smile, that simple action telling them that they should all just step down.

“I’ve tried to find an answer to that, but I’ve come up with practically _nothing_ ,” Peter said, watching Scott walk around the bed to rest one hand on Harry’s right thigh in a way that was almost reassuring.

“We’re nowhere near an answer, either,” Harry admitted, ducking his head a bit to look at the Bestiary, fingers tapping quickly against the hard covers. “And I’m starting to think that we should take a different route.”

“What do you mean?” Lydia asked and Harry looked at her. She stepped away front the foot of the bed, her tan skirt swishing audibly around a few of the books, a heavy tome in her hand which she was skimming through.

“We need to get into Kate Argent’s head,” he answered calmly, and while the teens choked up in shock, Peter let go of a low threatening growl.

“You mean that we need to think like a homicidal, psychotic _bitch_?” Stiles blabbed, eyebrows cocked, earning several exasperated sighs with Lydia snapping the book closed and placing it on the closest pile, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at Stiles with a small smirk while Scott and Peter merely exchanged a glance.

“Stiles,” Harry admonished softly, lips tilting up in a small smirk while his eyes glimmered mischievously. “If information in this Bestiary about the ritual Kate used and the consequences we can expect isn’t wholesome, then we can calmly conclude that Kate didn’t know what she was doing and that she only needed Derek for the talisman, which would in the end mean that there’s no way for us to know just what she did to him.”

“And _that_ means that we won’t know how to stop whatever she did to Derek,” Peter pressed out through his teeth and Harry nodded at him, sparing the werewolf a glance.

“If that’s the case then we’re left with only _one_ choice, and that is to find out exactly _which_ ritual she used and go from there.”

“Shouldn’t we start from there?” Lydia asked her pretty face twisted in mild confusion. “It would be much simpler to just find the correct ritual. Then we’d know what to do to counter it.”

“She _is_ right,” Peter admitted, drawing Harry’s attention to himself again. The wizard stared at the werewolf for a few long moments before he nodded, turned his head away from Peter and took a deep breath.

“Since I don’t know for how long I’ll be stuck in this place, I’ll concentrate on that,” spoke the wizard, looking at the teens from under messy bangs, eyes darkened with quiet warnings and shadows. “What I need _you_ to do is make sure that Derek isn’t alone. We need to know the exact _moment_ this thing advances and in what way.”

“We can’t spend every living moment with him,” Scott said and Harry shook his head.

“Not all of you,” he tilted his head to the side to look at Peter. “We just need to make sure we keep an eye on him.”

“Right now he’s at home sleeping like a log,” Peter informed them. “I hadn’t heard him move ever since he collapsed on his bed.”

“Good,” Harry nodded minutely. “Visiting hours will be over soon. You should all go home.”

“Shouldn’t someone stay with you?” Stiles asked as he stood up and placed the tome he had been reading on the nightstand. He rolled his shoulders, pushing the sleeves of his stripped hoodie up his forearms then shoving his hands in the back pockets of his tight, blue jeans.

“There’s no need,” Harry answered, offering Stiles a small, reassuring smile. “You need your rest as well, and if I’m not wrong, school starts on Monday. You should be getting ready for that, not running around solving supernatural mysteries.”

The three teens exchanged almost sheepish glances before all of them looked at Harry who merely raised an eyebrow at them. He blinked at them and their sudden change in attitude. He could practically taste the chagrin in the air.

“What?” he asked dully, face blank and feeling more than a tad lost, while Peter snorted and looked heavenwards.

“I think what they mean is that they’re not exactly used to letting _adults_ handle everything while they go around being normal teenagers,” he disclosed, smirking at Harry who looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Oh!” the wizard’s head snapped to the side again, making everyone wonder how his _neck_ didn’t break, and he looked at the teens with such an expression of utter _confusion_ that no one knew how to react. “Right now I feel as though I’m looking at three different versions of myself when I was your age,” he marveled into his chin, making the others choke up a bit.

Harry then sighed and raised his right hand to rub the back of his head with it, and the three teens suddenly felt as though they were waiting for a verdict of some sort, not really knowing where this would go.

“I guess telling you that _was_ a bit stupid when I look at this that way,” Harry spoke dryly, right hand flopping into his lap again. “So why don’t we make it like this. You guys try to concentrate on school, and we’ll keep you posted every day on what we’ve figured out. There’s really no sense in all of us losing time on research, and since you are always outside and amongst people, you’ll be the first to notice if anything strange in going on.”

Stunned silence settled in the room with the teens staring at Harry in absolute shock, the mere _fact_ that there was someone there besides Deaton they could count on to do some actual work taking them aback. Sure there’s John and Melissa, but with the two of them almost _always_ working double shifts to get by -- even though they were always there when they were needed -- the teens couldn’t actually _always_ count on an adult being there to help around.

And Deaton was an old school Emissary, always giving advice but _adoring_ the whole _self-realization_ thing, and conversation with him left the teens often more confused than they were when they came to him. Sure, he helped a lot of times, but really, the man _could_ try to figure out what it meant to give a straight answer.

As for Peter?

Well. There was very little to say on _that_ aspect.

“Harry’s right,” Peter pointed out, further stunning the teens which now turned to stare at Peter with suspicious stares; ones Peter either ignored or found too amusing to look at to actually say something on that point. “We don’t have any other obligations. We’ll focus on research. You go to school and keep your eyes and ears open. With the Sheriff and Mrs. McCall around, we’ll know for sure something’s going on before it all goes downhill, especially now that both of them know what to look for.”

Harry nodded in agreement, straightening a bit with a small wince before he huffed and sat back against the fluffed up pillows.

“Besides, I think I’m done for today,” he muttered and rubbed his face with his hands, covering a huge yawn. “I’m about to fall asleep sitting up.”

“We’ll just go then,” Stiles spoke up, rubbing his hands against his sides and looking at his friends, his gaze landing on Harry and full lips tilting up into a small smile. “Should we do anything about all those books?”

Harry hummed in answer and snapped the fingers of his right hand, the books arranging themselves neatly one on top of another in the far right corner of the room. “We’ll know the order of the books like this,” he said and relaxed against the pillow. “I’ll look through my other books tomorrow to see if I can find anything specific on Tezcatlipoca and rituals dedicated to him. Maybe we’ll be luckier tomorrow.”

“We’ll come around during the day,” Scott said exchanging a glance with Lydia and Stiles who nodded in agreement.

“I’ll look around the net,” Stiles offered, “maybe I stumble into something useful.”

“I’ll try to look around too,” Lydia added and Harry gifted the three teens with a small smile.

“And I’ll talk to Kira,” Scott said, ending up the only one who didn’t notice Stiles huffing and rolling his eyes, suppressing a grin. “Maybe her mom and dad know something about Tezcatlipoca and they can help us.”

“ _Sure_ ,” Stiles drawled, hitting Scott’s shoulder lightly with a fist and making the young alpha look at him innocently. “You’ll go see your new _girlfriend_ and talk about _research_. _Right_.” Scott blushed furiously while Harry and Peter raised eyebrows at them and Lydia grinned brightly.

“You’re finally together?” she asked happily, reaching forward and grabbing Scott’s arm and Scott’s blush grew even _worse_ if possible.

“What do you mean _finally_?” he squeaked, frantically looking around the room while Lydia exchanged a grin with Stiles.

“I’m sorry to say this, dude, but it was pretty _pathetic_ how the two of you danced around one another for _months_ ,” Stiles jested and Scott choked up, looking at the ground wide-eyed. He had the look of a man regretting his current friendships and life choices.

“Say hello to Kira for me,” Harry chirped happily, trying to divert the attention from Scott, and the young alpha breathed out, offering Harry a small grateful smile.

“I will,” he said, Lydia letting go of Scott and all but hopping over to Stiles while Harry nodded, clapping his hands lightly.

“Good,” he said. “Now, don’t think I’m trying to chase you away, but I’m about ready to fall asleep, so…”

“We get it, we get it,” Stiles drawled and walked over to the bed. Harry seemed honestly surprised when the human teen wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug, but it didn’t take the wizard long to catch up, and he hugged the teen back tenderly. “Get some rest,” murmured Stiles against Harry’s ear and moved back a bit, gifting the wizard with a small smile. “And thank you… for everything.”

“Don’t mention it,” Harry whispered and gave Stiles’ arms a gentle squeeze, and Stiles groaned when Harry reached up and ruffled the teen’s hair, Stiles immediately reaching up to bring some semblance of order to the brown mess.

“You’re a _menace_ ,” Stiles grumbled and Harry actually _snickered_.

“Takes one to know one,” he drawled, and everyone in the room practically _gaped_ when Stiles stuck his tongue out at Harry.

“Go to sleep, _old man_ ,” he muttered only to yelp when a bright pink, small ball of magic hit his ribs, sending a surge of electricity over his body. “I thought you’re forbidden from using excessive magic!” Stiles cried out, rubbing his tingling side and Harry snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Stiles, I’ve apparated more than four times in the past week, used _very_ excessive magic to bring Derek’s memories back _and_ I fought a Berserker. A _Stinging Hex_ won’t make any difference,” Harry counted in a matter-of-fact voice, tone dry, and Stiles huffed, shaking his head.

“I’m starting to see how you and dad became best friends in such a short time,” he grumbled and waved his right hand. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” Harry called out after the teen before looking at Lydia and Scott. “Be careful,” he said.

“You too,” Scott answered and the two made their way towards the door.

“Wait for me,” Peter spoke up and the two stopped in the doorway, appearing quite surprised, but Peter ignored them in favor of looking at Harry, finding the wizard frowning at him in slight confusion. “I’ll come around tomorrow as well since I have no doubt that Derek will want to see you once he wakes up. _Maybe_ you should reconsider what you’ve told me.”

“Peter…” Harry started but stopped when Peter smirked at him, clasped his hands behind his back and leaned forward a bit, looking deep in Harry’s eyes.

“You _do_ realize that I will never give up,” he informed quietly, and Harry swallowed audibly, trying to look away from Peter but finding himself unable to do so.

The werewolf’s scent was simply too intoxicating for him after so many years of remembering and yearning for the smallest whiff of that perfect aroma. He could feel Peter’s warmth rolling off of the werewolf in steady waves, and those perfect eyes stared at him _promising_ Harry that Peter would eventually find out everything, that it was inevitable as the sun rising every day.

“If I remember correctly,” Harry answered in a somewhat tight voice, forcing down a heavy swallow in an attempt to clear his mind and actually form a coherent sentence, “you always _were_ quite persistent.”

A nerve beside Peter’s right eye twitched, showing the frustration he obviously hid pretty well until provoked, and the werewolf hned moving back a bit and nodding at Harry sharply.

“I guess that we’ll be having this conversation again then,” he spoke through lightly pressed teeth, and his frustration spiked a bit when Harry actually smiled at him, eyes full of resignation and acceptance.

“I guess we will,” he said, and Peter pressed his teeth together tightly, right hand wrapping around his left wrist behind his back in a straining grip.

“Till tomorrow, _Mr. Potter_ ,” he spoke tightly and turned on his heel marching right past Lydia and Scott and into the hallway while the two teens stared at Harry, concerned and not really understanding what just happened.

“Harry-”

“Scott, don’t,” Harry interrupted the young alpha and just shook his head. “Would you mind turning the lights off?”

Understanding that Harry in no way wanted to talk about what just happened between him and Peter, Lydia and Scott merely exchanged a glance and Scott turned off the lights taking the doorknob into his hand as they made their way out.

“Sleep well, Harry,” Scott spoke as he closed the door.

The moment he was sure they were far enough Harry let go of a choked up gasp and rolled onto his side, covering his lips with his right hand, shoulders hunching as tears finally welled up, although they didn’t fall.

He wanted - oh how he wanted for Peter to get his memories back! He wanted to hug him, to hold him and kiss him. He wanted Peter to call him _Ry_ again, to caress him the way he did back then, to talk to him and argue with him, and spend quiet nights in front of the TV with him.

Harry wanted _so much_ to be able to tell Peter that he loved him, that even after all these years Peter is the only one for him.

But he couldn’t.

He could _see_ what Peter lived through. He could see that Peter was finally on the mend; that he was _finally_ albeit slowly becoming the man he used to be. And Harry couldn’t get in the way of that. He couldn’t bring Peter pain again.

No, he would rather suffer this alone; suffer the pain of unrequited love. He would rather be alone than have Peter hate him, because in his mind there was no way Peter would ever be able to love him again. Even _allowing_ them some sort of a chance to be together would be much too painful for Harry, because Harry would never be able to forget what they once had.

Even if somehow Peter would fall in love with him again, even if there was the slightest chance that he and Harry would have something in the future, Harry wouldn’t be able to handle it, because even though Peter wouldn’t remember Harry _would_ , and it would break what little of his heart and mind was left.

And even though Harry knew that Peter would pursue Scott, that the werewolf would do his damned _best_ to make Scott unlock Peter’s memories, Harry allowed himself a spark of hope. He allowed himself the useless belief that Peter would one day give up, and leave Harry to his misery.

Because not having Peter at all was better than being hated by him. Seeing Peter happy with someone else was better than breaking him. Not having Peter was better than losing what little Harry had of him.

No matter what anyone else might say.

**cut**

_I loved you, and I probably still do,_   
_And for a while the feeling may remain..._   
_But let my love no longer trouble you,_   
_I do not wish to cause you any pain._

_I loved you; and the hopelessness I knew,_   
_The jealousy, the shyness - though in vain -_   
_Made up a love so tender and so true_   
_As may God grant you to be loved again._

_\- A. S. Pushkin, ‘I Loved You’_

**cut**

“We need to talk,” Peter declared just as Lydia and Scott walked out of the hospital, finding Peter leaning against one of the thick pillars, looking at them with darkened eyes.

“If you want to talk me into unlocking your memories, I should warn you that it’s not going to happen,” Scott informed him, voice laced with determination, and Lydia stood by the alpha’s side nodding her head in quiet support, obviously trying to achieve some form of intimidation by glaring at Peter.

“I have the _right_ to know,” Peter pressed out through his teeth. His hands curled into fist by his sides, the slight tremor there depicting his growing outrage at the situation. “Whatever happened that made Talia lock my memories away is not proposing a danger now that _he_ is here-”

“Harry doesn’t want you to remember,” Lydia hissed sharply making Peter look at her with a squint, lips slightly parted. “Now, while I don’t understand his reasoning, I respect his wishes. He lived through too much, and if he doesn’t want this then I’m all for backing him up.”

Peter’s nostrils flared, and he took a threatening step forward. “Respect hi-”

“Lydia’s right,” Scott interjected calmly wincing a bit when the older wolf growled, spinning on his heel and raking his hands through his hair, but Scott would not be deterred. “If Harry doesn’t want you to remember, then I’ll support him until he says otherwise.”

“What about _my_ wishes?” Peter snapped, rounding on Scott and Lydia, latter of which took a small step back when Peter’s eyes flashed electric-blue for a mere second. The two tensed, readying for an attack that never came. “I have a _right_ to know.”

Scott turned to Lydia with a questioning gaze, the banshee swallowing thickly before she licked her lips, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked uneasy and shifty, glancing at Peter before she shook her head and turned to Scott again.

“Harry doesn’t want you to remember,” Lydia spoke quietly, head tilting to the left as she winced, shoulder rising a bit to brush her left ear. Scott and Peter frowned at the strange action, eyebrows narrowing further when Lydia’s breathing quickened a bit and she looked around, eyes widening.

“Lydia, what is it?” Scott asked, but the banshee didn’t answer, taking a few hesitant steps away from the two werewolves. “Lydia?” Scott tried again, reaching out for the banshee only to realize that she didn’t hear him.

Scott exchanged a glance with Peter when Lydia repeated the strange action walking towards a bush to the right of the entrance to the hospital.

“Lydia!” Peter called to her a bit more sharply than Scott did, but the banshee showed no sign that she had heard him. She stopped a few meters away from the bush, rubbing her left ear against her shoulder again, breathing shallow and quick.

“Lydia!” Scott shouted, startling the people around them, his voice distorting just a bit, and in the next moment Lydia spun on her heel, blinking rapidly and looking around as though she woke up from a trance not a second earlier. “What happened?” Scott and Peter hurried over to her with the older werewolf throwing a few warning glares around, and Scott stopped right in front of Lydia, fingers wrapping gently just above her elbows as she quickly looked around, as though she was trying to figure out what happened.

“Did you hear something?” Peter asked, coming to stand to Scott’s left and Lydia shook her head.

“I don’t know what happened,” she breathed out in a broken voice. “I - I thought I heard someone scream. I heard - I heard something like rain and - and thunder…” she looked in Scott’s eyes, her own wide and dilated with fear. “And then I heard a roar.”

“A roar?” Scott muttered and looked at Peter who shook his head.

“Like a werewolf?” asked the older werewolf, a frown marring his handsome features.

“No,” Lydia breathed out tilting her head to the right, blinking quickly a few times. “Like a cat…” Scott and Peter looked at one another, confused and taken aback, while Lydia’s eyes dulled again. “A really… big… _cat_.” Her voice was hardly audible and she would have lost herself again had Scott not tightened his hold on her, startling her again.

“Let’s get you home,” said the young alpha, wrapping one arm around her and leading her towards her car. “I’ll come back when I talk with Kira and her parents and see if I can sniff something out.”

“I’ll stay nearby,” Peter murmured and Scott and Lydia looked at him in slight confusion, the former alpha raising an eyebrow at them. “What?” he blurted out. “ _That_ could have been a _prediction_ , and if you’ve forgotten we have _Harry_ lying in this hospital, and Mrs. McCall is working the night shift, and I think neither of the three of us has forgotten that we’re dealing with a really big, possibly _crazed_ cat.”

Lydia and Scott exchanged a glance and the young alpha nodded not a minute later, looking at Peter with a hard stare. “You stay close, but don’t let anyone see you. I’ll be back as soon as possible. If Kate comes, call me. Don’t do _anything_ on your own, okay?”

Peter cocked an eyebrow at Scott only to sigh a heartbeat later, nodding in resignation. “Fine,” he bit out and looked around with a squint. “I’ll stay close. You hurry back.”

“Alright,” Scott muttered and he and Lydia walked away leaving Peter alone.

The werewolf took a deep breath and held it for a moment before he cursed under his breath and all but marched towards the café on the other side of the street.

Things were just getting more and more complicated with each passing minute.

Really made one think that it couldn’t _possibly_ get any worse, right?

 _There_ you would be wrong.

You would be very, _very_ wrong.

**cut**

Melissa looked up, hands stilling mid-action as emerald eyes opened to look at her.

“Melissa?” Harry mumbled sleepily, while Melissa quickly finished injecting the medications into the infusion fluid before storing her tools away and coming closer to Harry who squinted at her in the dimmed lights.

“I thought you’d sleep through the night,” she spoke warmly, brushing her hand almost reflexively through messy, matted black strands while Harry groaned, eyes slipping closed as he stretched a bit.

“I hope that wasn’t more morphine,” Harry grumbled and Melissa laughed quietly, shaking her head in slight exasperation.

“Your wounds are healing, and you would be in quite a bit of pain otherwise,” she said and Harry sighed, looking at her with an unfocused stare, still struggling against the veil of sleep trying to part him from the world.

“It’ll wash out soon enough,” he muttered, making Melissa frown. “Normal medications don’t work on wizards and witches for long, no matter how big of a dose you give them.”

“You mean you’ve-”

“I didn’t want the kids to worry,” Harry interrupted her and Melissa opened her lips to argue only to halt and shake his head.

“I guess there’s no helping you, then,” she spoke heavily and Harry gifted her with a small smile. “I’ve been asked to get your signature to run the necessary tests. It’s normal when we get cases like yours, but considering what you’ve just told me I’m not too sure what we can do for you.”

“We can run the tests if it’ll mean anything, but my body will heal on its own with time,” Harry answered, and to Melissa’s shock his eyes had already started to clear of drowsiness from both sleep and medications, making her wonder if Harry had suffered the pain of his injuries from the moment he woke up after the operation, and just how much pain he was truly in. “I don’t heal as fast as werewolves, but I heal faster than normal humans.”

“Should we get you out of here then?” Melissa asked a thoughtful frown on her face. “I could sign the discharge papers and put myself as your caretaker. We wouldn’t want anyone to get suspicious.” Harry hummed thoughtfully, eyebrows narrowing as he considered Melissa’s words.

“That _could_ be a good idea,” Harry murmured, and rubbed his lips with scarred fingers, noting then that the nasal respirator has been removed already, “although I _should_ spend at least another day here to avoid raising suspicions. I don’t want to be forced to leave Beacon Hills just because some doctor decided to dig too deep.”

“Then we’ll do it like that,” Melissa said, nodding for herself. “Although, right now you should go to-”

“Melissa!” the door was slammed open and Melissa turned around to look at the doctor standing there, looking frantic. “We need you in the ER!” he said and left, leaving the door open, and Melissa looked at Harry who nodded at her minutely.

“I’ll see you later,” he said and Melissa left with a small smile, pulling a rubber band off of her wrist on her way out and closing the door leaving Harry alone.

The wizard took a deep breath, wincing at the dull, annoying ache pulsating through his torso, holding it for a long moment before he breathed out slowly through his nose. Breathing in once again a familiar scent drifted through the air. Shivers wrecked Harry’s body making him tense and sit up quicker than he was supposed to.  

He took another deep breath, suppressing the pain, eyes slipping closed as he tried to recognize the horrid stench. A low, rumbling growl echoed through the silence of the small room, and the pupils of the wizard’s eyes turned into slits, emerald irises glimmering lightly as full lips parted.

The scent was familiar and it spoke of nothing good.

 _‘I guess there is no going back to sleep for me,’_ Harry thought to himself as he slowly stood up, his hospital clothes shifting into a pair of black sweatpants and a tight T-shirt. He slowly removed the IV needle from his left hand, a wince twitching on his face as he placed the needle on the bed rubbing his left hand with his right, wiping away the few drops of blood gathering at the small puncture wound.

Harry tucked his feet into the hospital provided slippers and made his way towards the door with a ripple of magic passing over him making sure that he wouldn’t be seen unless wanted to, and he started on his self-appointed mission of locating the source of that smell.

One thing he _could_ say about it with full certainty.

It _reeked_ of death.

**cut**

“Hey,” Scott greeted the moment Kira opened the door for him, the kitsune offering a small smile as she stepped to the side to let Scott in. “I hope I’m not disturbing anything,” he said.

“You’re not,” Kira answered, smiling brightly as they made their way towards the living room. “I’ve told mom and dad that you’re coming, and I’ve told them what’s going on,” she informed him and Scott tensed up a bit when he found Noshiko and Ken Yukimura waiting for him in the living room.

“Good evening.” Scott bowed his head at them, receiving similar actions in return.

“Come, Scott,” Noshiko spoke and showed him to take a seat. Scott and Kira took seats in the couch, the young kitsune placing her left hand on Scott’s right thigh, her hand quickly covered by Scott’s bigger, warmer one. “What Kira told us is quite concerning,” spoke the older kitsune, exchanging a glance with her husband who nodded warily, for once any trace of the calm smile ever tilting his lips gone.

“I’m afraid that without doing some extensive research I won’t be of much assistance,” spoke Ken as he looked at Scott, “but I think that I speak in both of our names when I say that we will do what we can to help you.”

“I don’t think we can ask for more,” Scott answered, nodding in quiet gratitude before he looked at Kira. “Harry has a lot of books that could help us, and he’ll do what he can to find a solution. He said that we should concentrate on school and keeping our eyes and ears open at all times.”

“That is good advice,” Noshiko spoke up, attracting the attention of the teens while her husband nodded in agreement. “You may have lived through a lot, but you are still all young. Your concern now should be with your studies.”

“Harry said almost the same thing,” Scott said with a slight upturn of lips.

“From what Kira told us before you’ve arrived, this _Harry_ seems like a very wise man,” Ken answered, voice laced with curiosity and Scott shrugged his shoulders lightly.

“I don’t doubt that you’ll have a chance to meet him when he feels better,” he spoke as he looked at Kira. “Besides, he said that he’s not going anywhere and he’s a wizard; really powerful too.”

“Maybe now a greater part of your load will be lifted,” Noshiko said, and Scott and Kira frowned at her in confusion. “You have been protecting Beacon Hills for quite some time now, young alpha,” she smiled at him knowingly while Ken hummed in agreement with his wife’s words, “yet you are still young. Life is still in front of you. Having a wizard on your side might make it a lot easier to protect this city and people you care about.”

“He already proved that he is trustworthy by keeping you all safe,” Ken added. “We will do everything in our power to help you as well.”

“Thank you,” Scott said and nodded minutely.

“Will you be going back to the hospital?” Kira asked looking at Scott with worry in her eyes, since Scott told her over the phone what happened with Lydia.

“I’ll have to,” he said, frowning at the ground. “Lydia doesn’t know what she heard, and since Harry is in no condition to fight and my mom’s there, I need to go back. I don’t want something to happen to them.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Kira asked, glancing towards her parents as though quietly asking for permission, but her gaze quickly shifted to Scott again when he squeezed her hand.

“No,” he said softly, making Kira’s eyes widen momentarily. “There’s no need for all of us to be there. Peter is sticking close to the hospital so we’ll know when something-”

As though on cue, Scott’s phone started ringing making the young alpha jump up, hurriedly answering the call while the Yukimura family exchanged worry-filled glances.

“What is it?” Scott asked, having seen that it was Peter calling him.

 _“Scott, you need to come back as soon as possible,”_ Peter spoke without a greeting, and a frown marred Scott’s handsome face, the werewolf looking at his girlfriend who suddenly looked terrified of the possibility that something happened already.

“What is it?” Scott asked, putting the phone on speaker so the others could hear what was going on as well.

 _“I’ve caught a smell I can’t place,”_ Peter said, sounding frustrated to say the least. _“It leads into the hospital and to the ER. I can’t go in there. I saw your mom go in though before I got out to call you.”_

“I’m on my way,” Scott said, but before he could end the call Peter spoke up again.

 _“I’ll wait with you in Harry’s room,”_ the alpha frowned at the phone, _“we might need his help.”_

“Harry is injured, Peter, and he’s sleeping,” Scott answered, not wanting the wizard to strain himself more than absolutely necessary until his wounds healed. “The medications he’s under won’t make him of much use in a fight.”

 _“If you had paid any attention to Harry’s scent, you would have noticed that their effect doesn’t last long on him.”_ Scott’s eyebrows met the line of his hair while the Yukimura family exchanged glances of slight amazement. _“He’s been in constant pain ever since he woke up, but even I have to admit that he’s more than good at concealing it. If push comes to shove he’ll be there to help us.”_

Not happy with this at all, but unable to think of anything better, Scott had no other choice but to agree. “Fine,” he said. “Go to Harry. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He ended the call before Peter could say more, tucking the phone into the pocket of his jacket before he looked at Kira.

“I’m going with you,” she said before Scott could speak, and the young alpha just sighed and shook his head.

“Alright,” he agreed and looked at the adults, both of them looking at him with clear warnings in their eyes.

“We’ll see what we can find,” Noshiko said. “You two be careful.”

“We will be,” Scott nodded at them and he and Kira left the house in a hurry.

It appeared that there couldn’t be a peaceful night in Beacon Hills after all.

**cut**

Peter huffed in annoyance when Scott ended the call, pushing his phone in the back pocket of his pants as he glanced around, wary of anyone paying too much attention to him. He hurried into the hospital, avoiding nurses, doctors and patients alike, quickly finding himself on the floor where Harry’s room was.

The werewolf ducked behind a corner when a nurse walked out of another room, waiting for her to leave the floor before he all but ran to Harry’s room, opening and closing the door quickly before he turned on his heel only to stop and gape.

Not a second later Peter took a deep breath, rolled his eyes and tilted his head back.

“Great,” he pressed out and walked over to the empty bed, placing his right hand on the already cool covers. With his left, he was already pulling out his phone and dialing Scott’s number, not surprised when Scott answered almost immediately.

 _“What is it?”_ the young alpha asked, sounding a bit breathless.

“We have a problem,” Peter growled as he turned towards the door. “Your wizard is missing.”

**cut**

Stiles jumped to his feet, his chair toppling over, but he paid it no heed as he rushed to the nightstand beside his bed and grabbed his phone, frowning when he saw that Scott was calling him.

“What is it?” he asked the moment he answered.

 _“Stiles, I need you to call your dad. Something’s going to happen at the hospital and he needs to be informed.”_ Stiles’ breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened, every muscle in his body coiling. _“Lydia heard something before, but she couldn’t say what, and Peter called me not five minutes ago to tell me that Harry’s not in his room.”_

“I’ll call him right away,” Stiles blurted out, hopping in his place nervously before he grabbed his hoodie off of the bed and rushed towards the door. “I’m on my way,” he said, and without waiting for Scott to answer, ended the call. He halted on top of the stairs, hurriedly pulling his hoodie on, and turned on his heel.

His heart was beating madly in his chest and he was blinking rapidly, doing his best to keep at least his breathing calm. He ran back into his room and grabbed the aluminum bat resting beside the door before running out of the house, not even bothering to lock the door.

Throwing both the bat and his phone on the front passenger seat, Stiles started the car and drove onto the road, barely keeping to the speed-limit in his haste.

He glanced at the phone, thinking momentarily that he should call Derek, only to remember that Harry had told the werewolf to turn his phone off.

“Fuck!” he snapped, pressing his teeth tightly together, and took a sharp turn, changing direction and going for Derek’s apartment.

If shit was going down all of them could be needed.

**cut**

Lydia looked away from the monitor of her laptop when her phone started ringing and she quickly answered it, already climbing to her feet and making her way towards the door.

“Yes?” she asked, fumbling a bit in the entrance hallway as she tried to pull on her jacket without letting go of her phone.

 _“Lydia, Harry’s missing,”_ Kira blurted out and Lydia’s eyes widened as she halted with her right hand around the doorknob. _“Scott and I are on the way to the hospital.”_

“I’m coming,” Lydia breathed out, pulling the door open and slamming it closed on her way out, running towards her car. “Do you know what’s going on?”

_“No, but Peter told Scott that he smelled something strange in the hospital. Scott already called Stiles. He’ll call the sheriff.”_

“Alright.” Lydia got into her car, struggling a bit with the key because of how hard her hands were shaking. She let go of a wet gasp, a tear straying down her flushed cheek, and rested her head on the steering wheel to find her center again.  “I’m on my way. Call me if anything happens.”

 _“Will do,”_ Kira answered and ended the call. Lydia sat up and threw her phone on the front passenger seat, finally starting the car and driving onto the road.

Her eyes were wide and breathing strained, knuckles white with how hard she held on to the steering wheel. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess and it took a lot out of her to concentrate on the road.

A flash of something black appeared in her line of sight and a whimper escaped her, her hold on the wheel growing stronger as she all but floored the gas pedal. She yelped when the flash of black appeared again, this time to her right, and she looked around frantically, gaze landing on the rearview mirror, her eyes widening as her breath hitched in her throat.

“Oh my god…”

**cut**

“Derek!” Stiles called out frantically the moment he pushed the door of Derek’s apartment open activating the alarm. The teen hurried to turn it off, spinning on his heel when the sound of something heavy hitting the floor came from behind him.

His breath hitched in his throat when he found Derek there looking as though he just crawled out of bed although his eyes were fully focused, gaze hard.

“What happened?” the werewolf bit out, and Stiles shook his head, gathering his wits.

“Harry’s gone,” he blurted out, heart clenching when Derek’s eyes widened and those massive shoulders tensed up, “and something’s going on at the hospital.”

Stiles watched as Derek’s expression shifted from shock and worry to hard determination, and the werewolf marched towards him, not even bothering to grab the leather jacket resting over the back of an armchair.

“Let’s go,” Derek bit out, hurriedly tucking his feet in his tennis-shoes which were resting haphazardly beside the door. Not knowing what to say and not wanting to lose any time, Stiles nodded and followed after Derek, grabbing his phone from the pocket of his hoodie to call his dad, eyes never leaving Derek’s back.

The line opened and John’s voice came from the other side, sending a ripple of warmth and reassurance down Stiles’ back.

“Dad, we have a problem.”

**cut**

John’s breath hitched in his throat at the sound of quiet panic and haste in Stiles’ voice, and he was on his feet in a second, checking to make sure that his gun was in its holster before making his way towards the door of his office.

“Son, what happened?” John asked, trying to sound as calm as possible.

 _“Something’s going on at the hospital. Everyone’s on their way there. Harry’s missing.”_ John halted mid-step in the doorway, attracting Deputy Parrish’s attention and making the young man jump to his feet.

“What?” he asked weakly, feeling as though his knees would give up on him.

_“Dad, we need you to be ready to act, okay? We don’t know what’s going on, but I’m with Derek and we’re on our way to the hospital.”_

“Son, I don’t want you-”

 _“Not now, dad!”_ Stiles interrupted John and he cursed under his breath, showing Parrish to follow him, the two of them rushing through the Station and out into the cold autumn air. _“I’ll call you when we find out what’s going on! Be ready to get there as soon as possible.”_

“Stiles, wait-” before John could finish the line broke and he cursed avidly, pulling the door of his car open while Parrish took the front passenger seat.

“What’s going on?” Parrish asked as John started the car and drove off of the parking lot at neck-breaking speed.

“Something’s going on at the hospital,” John pressed out through his teeth not even bothering to keep to the speed-limit as he drove towards the hospital.

“ _Something_?” Jordan asked for clarification and John spared him a glance, taking a deep breath through his nose and shaking his head.

“Stiles didn’t tell me exactly _what_ , but seeing that nothing _good_ has happening in this damned town in over a _year_ I’m not willing to risk it,” he spoke as he concentrated on the road.

“Should I call for backup?” the Deputy asked, already reaching for the speaker, but John shook his head.

“Not yet,” he bit out, making the younger man frown, although he obeyed without voicing his questions.

He has spent enough time in Beacon Hills already to know not to ask questions before time.

**cut**

Melissa took a deep breath, thinking about the young man that ran into the hospital over an hour ago and was settled into his room not fifteen minutes prior.

He was heavily sedated, the wounds on his feet and hands already tended to, and Melissa’s heart ached as she thought of just what the poor teen lived through to end up in such a condition, having been too delusional to actually tell the doctors what happened.

He had been placed in a room and Melissa had just gotten off of the phone after talking to the hospital psychiatrist to come check up on the young man as soon as possible, making her way then to Harry’s room to see if the wizard was awake.

She yelped and stumbled when a hand wrapped around her right forearm and pulled her around a corner, another hand slapping over her lips, and she found herself staring in stormy gray eyes belonging to none other than Peter Hale.

“Be quiet,” he pressed out through his teeth and Melissa nodded hurriedly. Peter moved his hand off of her lips and she took a deep breath, glancing around to see if anyone noticed what happened.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, glaring at the werewolf.

“Harry’s _missing_ ,” he bit out, eyes flashing electric-blue, and Melissa held her breath, eyes widening. “And there’s something dangerous in this hospital.”

“What?” she gasped, a shiver running down her spine and horror surging through her veins.

“Something came or was _brought_ into the hospital in the past hour and a half,” Peter spoke quietly, accenting each word, and Melissa frowned, her mind already working on an answer.

“I was in the ER with the young boy who ran into the hospital. He was in quite a…” She stopped talking when Peter’s eyes widened, lips going slack, and Melissa breathed out slowly, rubbing her forehead with her right hand. “Can you track Harry’s scent?”

Peter cocked an eyebrow at her, but huffed not a second later, glancing around the corridor. “I’ve been _trying_ to track him for the past half an hour, but he’s _good_.”

“Try again,” Melissa urged. “I’ll go and check up on the boy.”

“Alright,” Peter nodded and the two parted ways, Melissa holding back from running in hurry to reach the boy’s room.

She hopped in the elevator, wringing her hands together as she fought to suppress the anxiety and fear threatening to overwhelm her. The elevator stopped and she took a deep breath, holding it as she walked out and took a turn towards the latest patient’s room. She walked around a corner only to stop in her tracks, eyes widening and all color leaving her face.

The sweet boy she had helped tend to turned out not to be so sweet at all.

“Oh my good…” she breathed out before she could stop herself, right hand snapping up to cover her lips as the boy looked at her, crouching over the body of the dead nurse he has been _feeding_ on, white eyes glimmering in the fluorescent light, and sharp teeth bared between bloodied lips.

A growl rumbled in the boy’s chest as he moved towards Melissa on all fours, hunger such as she had never seen glimmering in his eyes as he stalked slowly towards the terrified, frozen woman.

“I tried,” he choked out, trembles shaking his body as he swallowed heavily. “I _tried_ to resist the hunger _,_ but it’s too strong!” his voice was distorted and _wet,_ bubbles of blood and saliva popping between his teeth, blood dripping down his chin as he slowly straightened, appearing ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. “I _need_ to _eat_!!” he roared and Melissa screamed, turning on her heel to run away, only to fall when the boy tackled her.

“No!” she cried out when she was turned on her back, bloodied hands taking hold of her shoulders to push her down, and the boy’s breath fanning over her face, the stench of human meet and putrid saliva making her stomach churn.

But before the boy could do anything, a black blur flashed in the corner of Melissa’s eyes and the boy was suddenly flying in the opposite direction.

Melissa scrambled to her feet, eyes wide as she stared at Harry who stood in front of her protectively, slowly backing towards Melissa, eyes focused on the boy who was trying to gather himself off of the floor.

“Harry-”

“We need to get out of here,” Harry pressed out, coming to stand right beside her, his left hand wrapping around her right wrist. “We need to run, _now_!!” he turned around and broke into a run, pulling Melissa along, the pained, horrifying roar following them together with the sound of a metal cart meeting the wall, bottles and glass tubes scattering and breaking, but neither looked back.

“What is he?!” Melissa cried out as Harry led her down hallways, the nurse not even paying attention to where they were going.

“A wendigo!” Harry answered and Melissa almost slipped when he waved his right arm sharply in a short arc, one of the doors to their left bursting open, and Harry pushed Melissa inside.

“Harry!” she screamed when Harry closed the door, slamming her hands against the wood, but the only thing she could do was watch in avid horror as the wizard turned on his heel, emerald eyes glowing brightly.

Her eyes widened when Harry stepped away from the door, her heart pounding in her chest as though it wanted to beat its way up her throat. Melissa shook her head in denial as she watched Harry crouch. Harry couldn’t possibly think he could fight that... that _thing_. “Harry?!” she called out hoarsely, saliva thick in her throat, choking her up.

“Come on,” Harry pressed out bowing his head lower, ignoring the cry of one of his oldest friends. “Come on!” Harry roared angrily, and in the next moment he was gone, disappearing out of Melissa’s sight.

“Harry, no!” she screamed, slamming her hands against the door repeatedly only to halt when a soft _click_ was heard and the door opened. “What the…” she gasped, taking a step back, only to grab the doorknob not a moment later and run out, her eyes widening at the sight before her. Blood -- dark and rich -- smudged over the floor, macabre imprints of hands dragged along the walls and Melissa suddenly felt very sick.

“Harry…”

**cut**

“Dad!” Stiles called out as John and the Deputy got out of the car, the two officers stopping in their tracks when Stiles ran over to them with Derek hot on his trail and Scott, Kira and Lydia running towards them from the opposite direction.

“We need to hurry up,” Scott said glancing towards the hospital, his, Derek’s and Kira’s eyes widening when they heard Melissa scream for Harry. Not moments later, a roar such as they never heard reached their ears, and the teens and Derek ran towards the hospital leaving John and Jordan no other choice but to follow.

“Lydia!” the men of the group stopped in their tracks right in the doorway when Kira’s voice reached their ears and they turned around finding the kitsune and the banshee on their knees with Kira’s hands wrapped firmly around Lydia’s wrists, the banshee’s hands clasped over her lips, eyes pressed tightly shut and whole body trembling.

It burned and bubbled in her stomach, the _knowing_ clawing at her chest, pulling at her ribs and stealing air from her lungs. All Lydia wanted to do was open her mouth and let go to feel the relief but that thought only made her fingers tighten over her lips.

“Lydia!” Stiles turned around and ran to the two girls, falling to his knees to Lydia’s right before he looked up at the others, eyes wide and full of fear, not one of them knowing what to do or say. “Lydia, come on,” Stiles blurted out, placing his hands on the banshee’s shoulders.

Lydia shook her head frantically, tears trailing down her cheeks, and in the next moment Stiles figured out what to do. He covered Kira’s hands and looked in her eyes before turning to the others.

“Cover your ears,” he pressed out and Kira scrambled back, covering her ears while Scott and Derek heeded Stiles’ words, John and Jordan looking at them in confusion. The human teen scrunched up his face and looked at Lydia, taking a deep breath and holding it. “This is gonna hurt.” With that Stiles pulled Lydia’s hands off of her lips, and unable to keep quiet anymore, Lydia opened her mouth and a terrifying scream echoed through Beacon Hills.

**cut**

Peter stumbled with an agonized cry, covering his ears and falling against a wall when the scream no one liked to heart pierced his ears. “God!” the werewolf cried out, the supernatural torrent of a banshee’s scream slipping through the flimsy protection of hands to rend his eardrums. Peter could taste blood in his mouth, the ability of balance leaving him as he toppled to his knees, falling around a corner.

His eyes widened trying to focus, and when they did all he could see were doubles of everything. His breath hitched in his throat at the sight in front of him, a teenage boy struggling to cover his ears, unable to stand up, and Harry just a few feet away from the bloodied teen, pale and gasping for air, hands also pressed tightly over his ears.

The scream stopped as abruptly as it started and strained silence settled over the hallway, with Peter unable to take his eyes off of Harry and the wizard struggling to remain on his feet, the scream having obviously shaken him just as much as it did Peter.

A steady, rumbling growl broke through the ringing in Peter’s ears, and his breath caught in his throat when the kid charged at Harry who avoided in the last _second_ , running past the kid who pushed himself away from the wall and ran after Harry.

“Peter!” the werewolf looked around frantically and Melissa fell to her knees beside him, eyes glassy and full of fear as she placed her hands on his shoulders while Peter slowly gathered himself off of the floor. “Harry - Have you seen-”

“Roof…” Peter choked out, swallowing thickly as both stood up. “He’s going for the roof.”

“We need to get out of here,” Melissa blurted out although she looked hesitant, obviously wanting to run after Harry, but fear paralyzing her.

“No!” Peter glared at her with eyes turning electric-blue and staying that way, and Melissa’s heartbeat stuttered. “That was a wendigo, and your _wizard_ is in no condition to kill it before it kills all of us!”

Peter tore himself out of Melissa’s hold, running sloppily towards the roof, and Melissa stumbled looking towards the elevator before a surge of courage every mother had pulsated through her heart and she ran after Peter.

**cut**

“Lydia, we need to get out of here!”

“What are _you_ lookin’ at?!” Stiles snapped at one of the patients standing several feet away from Kira and Lydia, the kitsune trying to make Lydia move. Only the three of them remained outside, the others running into the hospital when Derek and Scott heard Harry’s voice.

“Cat…” Lydia mumbled unintelligibly, completely out of it, unfocused eyes staring at something only she could see. “Big… black… cat…”

“Stiles, I can’t snap her out of it!” Kira cried out and Stiles hurried over to them, falling to his knees beside Lydia and cupping her face between his hands.

“It followed me here. It followed me. The cat. It-”

“Lydia, snap out of it!” Stiles shouted in a thundering voice, the banshee gasping in a sharp breath, eyes focusing almost instantly and gaze locking with Stiles’. “What did you see?” Stiles spoke in a wavering voice, eyes wide with horror. “What is it?”

Lydia’s lips quivered as she gasped for air, hands wrapping around Stiles’ forearms in a bruising grip.

“A jaguar,” she choked out and Stiles stilled completely, eyes going wide. “A black jaguar… a _panther_ … with emerald eyes...”

Stiles all but stopped breathing, looking at Kira and finding her with equally wide eyes full of chock.

“Harry!”

**cut**

The young wendigo ran onto the roof, breathing in the crisp autumn air only to stumble when the door was slammed closed behind him, running backwards from the threatening figure of the black clad man walking slowly towards him.

Sharp, focused emerald eyes glanced around, noting the lack of cameras before focusing on the teenager again, a small, _very_ small part of his heart aching for the poor boy.

“I didn’t want to…” the boy whimpered in a hoarse, broken voice as he walked backwards towards the edge of the roof with Harry stalking him, head slightly ducked and shimmering emerald eyes following the teen’s every move, unreadable and cold. “The _hunger_ was just too _big_!” the boy cried out, a few tears trailing down blood smudged cheeks.

“It’s too late for you now,” Harry spoke in a calm voice. “You’ve tasted human blood. The hunger will never go away again.” The wizard stopped in his tracks when the wendigo stopped and looked around, the low concrete wall of the roof right behind him. “If you try to resist it, it will drive you insane until you won’t be able to stop yourself anymore and you _will_ kill again.”

“Why _should_ I?!” the teen laughed hysterically and Harry’s eyebrows narrowed in a strict stare, hands fisting by his sides, and a small pulse of magic made sure that every single door to the roof was locked, just in case the kid got any bright ideas about running back into the hospital to feed. “Why _should_ I resist the hunger? Humans are _cattle_! They’re nothing but _food_!”

“You won’t get off of this roof,” Harry pressed out through his teeth, hands clenching into fists and the wendigo bared his teeth at him, hissing as those white eyes filled with hunger.

“No, I won’t,” he grinned and Harry slowly bent his knees in a light crouch, fists unfurling as nails started to slowly sharpen, and emerald eyes glowed brightly, a threatening, hardly audible _purr_ rumbling within the wizard’s slowly rising and falling chest. “Not before I kill you!”

Just as the wendigo charged the wizard sprung into motion, both hearing but neither paying attention to both doors to the roof being slammed open and several various voices calling out to Harry in frantic horror only to fall mute at the sight they came upon.

The wendigo roared and reared back, white eyes widening when the wizard jumped into the air, changing mid-flight into a powerful, legendary _beast_ , tackling the wendigo to the ground with superior weight, sharp fangs biting into the wendigo’s shoulder.

The boy screamed and grabbed a hold of the huge cat’s sides, throwing it off of himself, both scrambling to all fours and coming to a stalemate, glowing emerald orbs staring intently into wide white ones.

Not a moment later, the wendigo screamed in red hot rage, charging at Harry who lightly danced out of its way, making the crazed creature stumble as it almost fell over the edge. Harry crouched low, long tail swishing from side to side as he prepared to pounce, and just as they both moved, a high pitched scream overlapping with a powerful roar, an axe flew past Harry, lodging itself into the wendigo’s heart, missing the wizard by a hair.

Everything stopped as the wendigo stood still, wide eyes staring at the axe as blood soaked the white shirt. With one last gurgling breath, the wendigo toppled backwards and fell off of the roof, and heavy, strained silence fell upon them.

Huge paws made hardly any sound as the sleek body of the _black jaguar_ slowly turned around, emerald gaze passing over the shocked people at the gates focusing on the man standing atop the highest point of the roof.

Round ears flattened against the big head and sharp teeth bared as a threatening hiss passed them, and the man clad in darkness raised one hand, placing an index finger over the part where his mouth _should_ have been before turning and disappearing in a flash.

The tension and silence were so _thick_ one would have needed a diamond blade to cut through it as the panther shifted his weight, emerald eyes focusing on the faces looking at him in absolute shock, round ears twitching as the panther slowly shook out the beautiful black fur.

Derek, Scott, Jordan and John stood in one doorway, all four of them gaping, eyes wide, while Peter and Melissa stood in the doorway across from them in equal state of shock. Huffing shortly Harry took a few steps forward, paws padding lightly against the hard concrete, until he hopped to his hind legs shifting back into human form without so much as a hitch.

“We need to get off the roof,” he spoke in a raspy voice, Peter and Melissa moving out of his way on pure instinct, the others shaking out of the shocked state and running over to them, exchanging wary glances.

“Did I just see what I think I saw?” Jordan asked, pale and breathless, and John looked at his Deputy, lips parting and closing several times with no words passing them.

“We’ve all seen it,” Peter pressed out through his teeth glaring after Harry, lips thinning in a tight line before he all but stomped after the wizard. “And _I_ for one want answers.”

That seemed to shake the others out of their shocked state and they all moved after Peter with hurried footsteps.

“Guys!” Stiles called out to them when they entered the floor Harry’s room was located on, the human teen helping Lydia with Kira right behind them. “What the hell happened?” he asked, seeing the shocked state of his friends and dad.

“We’ll explain later,” Scott said and nodded for Stiles and the girls to follow them, and all of them piled into the room, closing the door just in time to avoid being seen by paramedics and officers running towards the exit to the roof.

The sight they came upon shocked them further, because they found Harry leaning over the bed, braced on fisted hands, head bowed low and shoulders rising and falling with each deep, strained breath he took. The nurse in Melissa woke up and she was the first to move towards Harry only to halt in her step when the wizard spoke up.

“Stay right there,” he growled in a distorted voice, sounding like neither man nor beast. “I need a moment to calm down.”

“Mind telling us what that was?” Peter bit out angrily only to tense up along everyone else when Harry raised his head, peaking over a heaving shoulder at Peter, pupils thin and irises still glowing bright green.

“Are you referring to the wendigo, the mercenary who killed him or my animagus form?” Harry snapped as he slowly straightened, appearing somehow _bigger_ than he usually seems to be, and he turned around to face them, crossing strong arms over his chest as emerald eyes looked at them cold and calculating.

“Animagus form?” Stiles piped out, glancing around at his friends before his gaze settled on Harry, having no idea what happened but understanding that another piece of the puzzle known as Harry James Potter was revealed while he, Lydia and Kira were absent.

“ _Mr. Potter_ here turned into a big black _cat_ right in front of our eyes,” Peter sniped, making the wizard cock an eyebrow at him.

“A black panther…” Lydia breathed out, eyes widening as she finally understood what she has been hearing and seeing. “A _jaguar_ … A _predator_ unlike any…”

“An _apex predator_ ,” Harry drawled in dry amusement, nose twitching with something resembling _disdain_ as he shifted his weight, shadows swirling in his eyes. “The _lone hunter_ , the god of the rainforest, incarnation of Tezcatlipoca or what-bloody-fucking- _ever_!” his voice rose with each word until it ended in a thundering roar, and the wizard started pacing the room, everyone feeling the electricity snapping around him.

“Some wizards and witches have the ability to shift into animals that represent their inner self, and _yes_ …” he growled and glanced at Stiles and Lydia as though he had seen them open their mouths even though at that moment he had his back turned on them. “The shape you take _does_ show the person you are inside.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jordan Parrish spoke up, attracting everyone’s attention as he moved forward and looked around before pale blue eyes settled on Harry whose nose twitched as he sniffed the air, shoulders squaring before he continued pacing, seeming as though he was trying to walk off some of the adrenalin still pumping through his veins. “What the hell does all of this mean?”

“I’ll explain everything to you later, Parrish,” John spoke up, coming to stand beside Jordan and placing a reassuring hand on the Deputy’s shoulder before he looked at Harry again, the wizard having yet to stop pacing. “Harry, we’re just confused. You’ve never told us you could shift into an animal…”

“An animal bearing _familial_ resemblance to _Kate Ar-”_

“Don’t you _dare_ compare me to that _bitch_!”

Peter grunted, suddenly finding himself slammed against a wall with a strong hand wrapped around his throat and furious emerald eyes glaring into his. Harry’s scent overwhelmed him, almost _double_ as strong as it normally was, and the werewolf felt the wizard’s magic snapping around them, the others too shocked to actually move.

Harry still somehow kept his distance from Peter, only his right hand wrapped around the werewolf’s throat to hold him in place actually posing as threat, telling the others that he was still holding himself back.

“I am _nothing_ like Kate Argent, _believe me_ , otherwise the whole _lot_ of your kind would be long _dead_!” Harry spat out, the teens quite suddenly remembering what Braeden told them about Harry.

The name, _El Sabueso_ , suddenly received a whole different meaning.

Not a _hound_ , but a _hell_ hound in the form of a powerful wizard who could turn into an animal of legends.

“Harry, you need to calm down.” Derek’s words surprised everyone, especially the fact that he sounded perfectly calm, although the pallor of his skin and the slight wide-eyed look belied his calmness.

Harry spared Derek a glance and went back to pacing, Peter sagging against the wall, left hand darting up to rub his neck, a wince twisting his face for a moment, his eyes a luminescent blue, burning into the side of Harry’s face. Peter’s visible effort to reign in the animalistic reaction to such an aggressive move was something everyone grudgingly commended him for. The situation could go from bad to catastrophic if Peter decided to fight Harry.

“I’m sorry,” the wizard pressed out through tightly clenched teeth, sparing Peter a glance as he turned his back on them again. “The panther is getting the best of me. That’s why I avoid shifting unless it is absolutely necessary.”

The wizard stopped on the other side of the bed, bracing himself on the metal fence as he took a deep breath and held it, ducking his head so that his bangs cast shadows over his eyes.

“You just keep revealing secrets, Harry,” John spoke up and Harry raised his head a bit to look in his old friend’s eyes, to his surprise finding no despise or resentment in them. “We’re just surprised, that’s all.”

“A wizard always keeps his secrets, John,” Harry spoke, voice slowly going back to normal as some tension seemed to leave his body, most of it disappearing when he saw that - while everyone _was_ shocked and slightly uncomfortable - no one but Peter and Jordan seemed to actually be angry with him or resent him, Jordan being too shocked and trying to keep up with everything and Peter appearing like a wolf that had just been smacked on the snout. “You don’t need to know all of them.”

The wizard walked around the bed and took a seat, bracing his elbows on his knees and hiding his face in his hands, silence settling over the room as he breathed slowly and deeply. Every muscle in his body was still tightly coiled though, and his head snapped up when two gentle hands settled on his forearms and he found himself looking in Melissa’s eyes, glimmering with concern, noticing in slight wonder that the woman didn’t even twitch at his sudden action.

“Are you in any pain?” she asked, gaze racking over Harry’s hunched form.

“I’m fine,” he answered, the lie obvious even though he was no longer attached to the heart monitor. Melissa clicked her tongue and shook her head, gently tugging on Harry’s forearms.

“Let me at least check your wounds to see if they’ve reopened,” she spoke gently and Harry straightened slowly, pulling his black T-shirt off without so much as a wince, although the others didn’t share that sentiment, most wincing or hissing at the sight of red splotches contrasting sharply with the white of the bandages.

“Scott, the supplies are in the last room to the right,” Melissa spoke up, slowly starting to unravel the bandages around Harry’s waist.

“You were in a war,” Jordan commented, taking notice of the wizard’s scars, and Harry looked at the Deputy over Melissa’s shoulder, snorting as the right corner of his lips twitched up.

“Several of them, actually,” he muttered making Jordan frown and look at John who just shook his head, quietly telling his Deputy to leave it for now.

“The kid that died,” Lydia murmured and Harry’s gaze shifted to her, growing considerably warmer. “What _was_ he? I - I felt such _hunger-_ ”

“He was a wendigo,” Harry cut her off when it appeared as though Lydia was spacing out, “wretched creatures who reach maturity at eighteen. They start hungering for human flesh. Most live… well, _peacefully_ eating corpses, and they live normally, rarely past forty-five years. But some can’t resist the hunger,” he winced when Melissa probed his right side, the nurse murmuring an apology before moving on to the wounds on his left side, “and once they surrender to it and taste the flesh of a live human, they go insane with hunger and start killing without remorse, only thinking about satisfying it.”

“But who killed him?” Derek asked, frowning when Harry winced again and Melissa raised her head, narrowing her eyebrows at him. “We didn’t see the man who threw the axe.”

“It was a mercenary,” Harry answered. “I’ve never met him in person before, but I’ve heard of him.” Scott came back in that moment with a bottle of disinfectant, some wipes and a few rolls of bandages in his hands.

“Who was he?” John asked.

“He’s known as the Mute,” Harry spoke before he took a deep breath and Melissa gifted him with a small smile, starting on cleaning the newly opened wounds, “mostly because he doesn’t appear to have lips.”

“How does he _eat_?” the Stilinski men asked in tandem making the others choke up in shock, while Derek and Lydia rolled their eyes, both murmuring _‘oh my god, it’s hereditary’_ under their breaths and drawing a smile to Harry’s lips.

“You’ll have to ask _him_ that if you ever run into him, although I doubt you ever will,” spoke the wizard making everyone look at him in slight confusion. “He specializes in hunting wendigos and only moves from the east coast of the States if his prey escapes him.” Harry stopped talking, lips still parted and Melissa stilled in wrapping the bandages around him, frowning up at the wizard while the others tensed up. “As a matter of fact, this whole thing is quite concerning,” he muttered.

“Why?” Stiles voiced the question plaguing everyone’s minds.

“Wendigos live only on the east coast of the States. Their presence was never marked further than the western borders of Indiana, and they live in _packs_ which means the kid wasn’t the only one…” he hesitated as though weighing his words. “Although I’m prone to believe that the Mute killed them already.”

“But what does that mean?” Scott asked and Harry took a deep breath, shaking his head.

“Wendigos are very traditional and they wouldn’t leave their hunting grounds unless something really bad happened,” he said, nodding at Melissa when she finished bandaging his wounds, and he pulled his shirt on again, sagging a bit in his seat with a huff, right arm wrapping around his midsection.

“Like a mercenary coming after them?” drawled Stiles and Harry shook his head.

“No. They know that strength is in numbers. They would have stayed wherever they came from if Mute was coming after them,” explained the wizard.

“So what brought them here?” Kira asked and Harry hummed, frowning thoughtfully.

“Something _must_ have pulled them to Beacon Hills,” he murmured, rubbing his chin with his fingers, gaze focused on the ground. A gasp made him look up and he found Lydia staring at him wide-eyed, making him frown in concern. “Lydia?”

“Pull…” she breathed out and looked at Scott and Stiles who stared at her in confusion for no more than a moment before both paled and choked up. “The Nemeton!” whispered the banshee, Scott sighing gravely while Stiles rubbed his face with his hands, dragging them through his hair before allowing them to flop against his sides.

“Wait a second,” Harry spoke up. “The Nemeton’s power was sealed long before I first came to Beacon Hills.”

“You know about the Nemeton?” Kira asked in slight shock and Harry nodded.

“Yeah, it was where I first…” he choked up, looking at Peter who was still glaring at him, although that glare quickly changed into a squint of confusion when a light blush seemed to tinge Harry’s cheeks before the wizard shifted his weight a bit and cleared his throat. “I know about it, but like I said. Its power was sealed years ago.”

“Remember how we told you about the Darach, and the whole Alpha Pack deal?” Stiles spoke in a slightly strained voice, face wrinkled in obvious discomfort.

“Yeah, but what…” the rest of Harry’s sentence hung in the air as his eyes widened with realization. “Oh bloody fuck…” he breathed out, raising his hands to rub his face as he hopped off of the bed, starting to pace again. “The power of the Nemeton was awakened by three sacrifices,” he mumbled into his chin ignoring Melissa’s exasperated glare which clearly said ‘would you _please_ just sit down before I tie you to the bed’, although the nurse clearly knew not to speak at the moment.

“And since the Nemeton lies on the crossing of several _very_ powerful telluric currents _and_ lay lines, its power is attracting every creature with enough cognitive…” Harry stopped mumbling into his chin, stopped mid stride and his head snapped up. “Bloody, buggering _fuck_!” he snapped, left hand fisting on his waist while he dragged the right through already messy black strands, turning on his heel as his hand flopped to his side and he looked at the gathered group. “We have a problem.”

“I think we know that we have a problem,” John stated, squinting at Harry as though he was trying to read the wizard’s thoughts. “Question is just how _big_ of a problem we have.”

“Pretty big, sheriff,” Peter spoke up for the first time since Harry slammed him against the wall for being a mouthy bastard. “We can’t know what else besides wendigos could stray onto our territory because the Nemeton is _leaking power_.

“But we _can_ know what will follow,” Derek pressed out through his teeth as he crossed his arms over his chest, gaze locked with Harry’s, the wizard nodding in confirmation of Derek’s yet unspoken words. “Hunters,” the werewolf bit out, “A _lot_ of them.”

“Wait,” Melissa spoke up, raising her hands in a calming gesture, although she didn’t look all that calm herself. “I don’t think I’m following. The _Nemeton_ is _leaking power_ , and it is _summoning creatures_ followed by _hunters_ , am I right so far?”

“I’m afraid you are, Melissa,” Harry spoke gravely, sighing as he crossed his arms over his chest and adjusted his weight on both legs, feet at the width of his shoulders. “Beacon Hills is about to live up to its name.”

Harry’s words brought forth a deafening silence as the reality of the situation crashed down upon them.

“That’s right,” the wizard muttered making everyone look at him, the dark shadows swirling in his eyes sending shivers down everyone’s spines, even Peter’s. “I’m afraid that we don’t have just Kate and what she did to Derek to worry about anymore.”

“Perfect,” John huffed and rubbed his face with his right hand. “Things have just gotten more complicated.” Harry snorted and shook his head.

“You have no idea, John,” he murmured gravely. “You have no _bloody_ idea…”

**cut**

**Wow…. I think this might just be the longest chapter I’ve written for this story!!**

**Anyway, I have a bit of a dilemma here.**

**Stiles and Derek are bound to end up together, and so are Peter and Harry (yes, you get a small spoiler because I love you), and Kira and Scott already _are_ together. **

**Now, I’m thinking of pairing Lydia up with Jordan. I like him. Out of all the new characters that appeared in Teen Wolf, I like him most since he actually plays a part however small it is. And I like him. A _lot_.**

**Anyway, do you agree with it?**

**And I’m putting Mpreg to vote now, with voting going for the next five chapters. Please take note that you can vote only once!!**

**So!!**

**I hope you liked it, and that you’ll join me next time in ‘Key’.**


	11. Key

**Again, I would like to thank Fitz-Leo for being the sweetest, lovelies, most beautiful person and editing the chapters before I post them. Thank you for making this story awesome!!!**

**cut**

_It is not a word spoken,_  
 _Few words are said;_  
 _Nor even a look of the eyes_  
 _Nor a bend of the head,_  
  
 _But only a hush of the heart_  
 _That has too much to keep,_  
 _Only memories waking_  
 _That sleep so light a sleep._

 -S. Teasdale, ‘It Is Not a Word’

**cut**

“Settled already?”

Harry looked up from the drawers where he had just placed the last of his clothes and turned to look at the doorway leading into the guestroom of the Stilinski household - now Harry’s bedroom for however long he would stay there - and found John there, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Had to enlarge the shelves,” Harry commented in a quiet, somewhat tight voice, waving his hand towards the opposite wall in a gesture that was supposed to be light and yet seemed somehow tense, “but I’m all settled.”

“If you need _anything_ , don’t be afraid to ask, okay?” John asked as he pushed away from the doorframe and entered the room, slowly walking towards Harry who stopped in the middle, tucked his hands in the pockets of his tight black trousers and glanced around before ducking his head.

John came to stand in front of Harry, placing his hands on the wizard’s shoulders before they slipped lower, fingers curling just above Harry’s elbows and squeezing gently.

“Harry, I need to apologize,” John spoke warmly and Harry looked up, eyes wide in shock, and John’s lips tilted up into a small smile, light wrinkles appearing to the sides of his eyes which gazed upon Harry with familiar warmth. “When you first came here after you returned I treated you as though all of this was your fault when it never was and it never will be. I’m sorry if I made you think that I blame you for anything and _thank you_ for taking care of my son and his friends. God knows what sort of trouble they would have ended up in if it weren’t for you.”

Harry stared at John speechless for a long moment, unable to find the right words to say without blurting out something he wasn’t ready to share yet. His eyes widened even more if possible when John gently cupped his cheeks within those warm, callused hands, and the sheriff’s warm, pale blue eyes dove deep into Harry’s, making the wizard’s heart beat just a bit stronger.

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you, Harry,” John spoke in a tight voice, “and I’m really happy you agreed to come live with Stiles and me until you find a place for yourself.”

“Thank you for accepting me,” Harry finally managed to choke out over the lump of feelings in his throat, and John gently clapped Harry’s left cheek, knowing that Harry meant much more with those few simple words that anyone could ever assume.

“Come on,” John urged Harry, draping his left arm over Harry’s shoulders and leading him out of the room. “Stiles must have ordered pizza by now and I could _really_ go for a drink.”

The wizard couldn’t help but laugh lightly at John who smirked as they made their way down the stairs, finding Stiles in the kitchen talking to someone over the phone. The teen waved at them as they passed through the kitchen and into the living room, and Harry took a seat in the closest armchair, relaxing in it with a heavy sigh while John went to pour both of them a glass of Jack.

“Pizza will be here in a couple of minutes,” Stiles announced as he entered the room flopping down on the couch with a content sigh, throwing his arms over his head and using his hands as pillows, amber eyes slipping closed as he relaxed on the fluffy surface.

“Who did you talk to?” Harry asked as he settled more comfortably, crossing strong legs and nodding at John in thanks when he was given his glass of the strong drink.

“Lydia,” Stiles answered, rolling onto his side, right arm folded under his head as he tucked his left hand between his thighs, looking directly at Harry. “We’ll meet on Skype in an hour or so and do some research together. She thinks she may have found something interesting about Tezcatlipoca that might help us figure out what to do in Derek’s case.”

Harry nodded, taking a sip, not even wincing as the strong liquid flowed down his throat, warming his stomach. “I found a book in my personal library concerning only Mayan and Aztec gods, so I’ll focus on that one, although in all honesty, I feel like I should first concentrate on the Nemeton.” The wizard looked at the tea-table with a narrow-eyed stare, slowly rotating the glass in his hand. “The fact that it’s leaking enough power to attract wendigos from the other side of the states is concerning to say the least.”

“Can you do anything about it?” Stiles asked and Harry took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before he breathed out slowly, shaking his head.

“Unfortunately, no,” he admitted, nose wrinkling as though those words left a bitter taste on his tongue. “The best thing to do would be to seal the Nemeton’s power away again, but doing that requests a lot of power as well, and as you already know, I’m not exactly allowed to use excessive amounts of magic.”

“You mean more excessive than you’ve already used, right?” John drawled, voice laced with amusement and Harry laughed quietly, nodding in admittance.

“Yeah,” he chuckled and shook his head. “Sam would kill me to spare me the trouble of getting killed if he ever found out.”

“You mean-”

“No!” Harry interrupted John when he saw that his words made the two Stilinski men tense up in worry. “I didn’t mean…” he huffed, obviously frustrated and glanced around as though looking for the right words. “My magic is healing my body,” he started slowly, as though he was carefully choosing his words. “As Melissa pointed out, without it I wouldn’t be able to walk, much less function normally.”

“Because of how heavy your words originally were?” Stiles asked and Harry nodded.

“Yes,” he said and Stiles’ lips formed a small ‘o’, the teen obviously connecting many dots in his head. “For example, without my magic, I wouldn’t be able to walk since my right knee was broken, but thanks to magic, I can walk only suffering minimal pain while it’s working on healing it. Even when it was locked within my body, it still managed to heal my wounds albeit very slowly.”

“Which is why you survived being impaled by a pole,” Stiles concluded and Harry chuckled, shaking his head a bit while John stared at Harry in slight amazement.

“Yeah,” Harry murmured, taking a sip of his drink and holding the liquid in his mouth for a moment before swallowing with a content sigh. “An acquaintance of mine used to say that I was a favorite child of Magic, because of everything I’ve managed to survive.”

“Well considering that what you’ve told us is only the bare _tip_ of the iceberg, and I don’t think a lot of people would have survived _that_ , I’d say your _acquaintance_ was right,” John drawled dryly, staring at Harry with an unreadable gaze, and the wizard offered a small, tight-lipped smile, shifting in his seat a bit.

“John, don’t think that I haven’t told you everything because I don’t want to,” Harry spoke, looking straight in John’s eyes, trying to convey his feelings to the sheriff. “What I lived through…” he hesitated, head turning to the side as he squinted a bit. “No one should live through the shit I did,” he finally said, bitterness lacing each word, “and talking about it, telling someone what I did and what was done to me, would bring me nowhere. I _know_ what I lived through, and that’s enough.”

“Maybe it would be easier for you to live with it if you shared it with someone,” John said, although surprisingly there was not a single _note_ of persuasion or suggestiveness in his voice, merely a notice and a friendly offer, and Harry gifted him with a small smile, glancing in Stiles’ suggestion and finding the teen observing him with open curiosity.

“And maybe one day I will,” Harry admitted, looking at his drink before taking a deep breath and turning to John. “Maybe someday I’ll find the strength needed to tell someone what I lived through. Maybe when I make peace with everything I did, I’ll be able to tell someone about it.”

“Repressing _anything_ isn’t good, I guess,” Stiles commented quietly and Harry nodded in agreement.

“I’m not _repressing_ , per se,” Harry clarified and Stiles looked at him with a small, confused frown. “I’m not afraid to admit that I’ve done horrible things, that I’ve taken lives, that I’ve tortured or that I’ve _been_ tortured to the point of almost losing my mind. I’m not afraid to admit that I’ve done horrible things, and I’m not afraid to admit that all of that is weighing on me every day. But I’m _fine_ , and as long as I can say that, as long as I can function normally and face each day, then I won’t reveal to anyone exactly _what_ I had to live through.”

Heavy silence settled over the room as each man sunk into his own thoughts, jumping in their places when the doorbell sounded.

“I’ll get it,” John offered, hurrying to the front door and leaving Harry and Stiles alone.

“How long does it take to be able to say you’re fine?” Stiles spoke in a quiet voice, sitting up and pulling his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and resting his chin on his right knee.

Harry took a deep breath as he looked at the teen with shadows swirling in his eyes. “It takes a while,” he spoke, halting to clear his throat when his voice came out hoarse, “and it’s pretty difficult, especially when you’re younger.”

Stiles swallowed audibly, staring at the table between them. “And are you ever _really_ alright?” he looked at Harry, finding the wizard looking at him with a dull stare, eyes darkened with memories of his past.

“I wouldn’t know,” he spoke quietly. “I haven’t reached that stage yet.” Stiles paled, looking away from Harry, only to shiver when the wizard spoke up again. “But I guess… I guess it’s easier when someone supports you, someone who loves you unconditionally.” Harry’s voice turned hollow and he looked at the carpeted floor, forcing down a difficult swallow as he cradled the half-empty glass in both hands. “Someone who knows what you’ve lived through and who understands how you feel. I guess…” He looked at Stiles, lips tilting up into the smallest of smiles. “I guess that it’s easier to say that you’re fine when someone’s there to help you feel like that too.”

Stiles hummed in understanding, resting his chin on his knee again as he contemplated Harry’s words. “So it really _is_ better if you talk to someone,” he mumbled into his chin, but before Harry could answer John called out to them, and both stood up to join the sheriff in the dining room.

Before they could enter though, Harry stopped Stiles by placing his scarred hand on the teen’s shoulder and offering a reassuring smile when Stiles looked at him. “You are only as strong as you decide to be, Stiles,” Harry whispered, looking deep into the teen’s eyes. “And _believe_ me, in many ways you are stronger than I am.”

Leaving the teen to contemplate those words, Harry entered the dining room and hurried to help John put plates on the table. Stiles stood in the doorway, the last words Harry told him spinning around in his mind, both reassuring and confusing at the same time.

In what way is he stronger than Harry? He is, after all, only human. What did the wizard mean when he said that?

“Come on, Stiles! These are our favorites!” John called out before he laughed and shook his head, throwing a teasing smirk in Harry’s direction. “That is, if double _everything_ is still your favorite,” he drawled as he and Harry took seats with Stiles joining them at his usual seat.

“It will _always_ be my favorite,” Harry answered, pulling his pizza closer, tongue peeking out to wet dry lips, eyes almost _glimmering_ with happiness. “The day I don’t order pizza with double everything you can assume that I have either been possessed or replaced by aliens.” He took a piece and bit into it with gusto, moaning happily, eyes slipping closed as he sat back for a moment, looking as though he was honestly enjoying himself.

“Take it easy there, Harry.” John smirked at his friend while Stiles hid a grin behind his own piece. “There are innocent children here.”

“Where?” the wizard looked around the room with wide eyes, and the Stilinski men laughed brightly, making Harry smirk as he straightened and devoted his attention to his food.

And for the first time in a long, long while there was laughter in the Stilinski household.

**cut**

“You should give up,” Derek spoke quietly from where he stood at the bottom of the staircase, observing his uncle who has been staring at the same page of the book he has been reading for the past hour or so, obviously still unable to let go of what happened between him and Harry at the hospital.

It has almost been 24 hours since they each went their own way after the wendigo incident, and Derek has been left with his uncle, watching the older werewolf first pace the apartment in more than obvious frustration before he left without a word.

When he returned Derek had known immediately that Peter tried to waste some of his frustrations by running through the forest, but it obviously didn’t do much good. While Peter had tried his best to concentrate on research, his focus wouldn’t last long, as could be seen right now.

“Give up on trying saving you, my dear nephew, or-”

“Give up on antagonizing Harry or forcing Scott to unlock your memories,” Derek cut Peter off and the older werewolf looked at him, eyes narrowed in a glare, and Derek took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before he walked over to Peter and took a seat in the armchair facing the older man. “Look-”

“No, _you_ look,” Peter growled, bracing his elbows on his knees, loosely entwining his fingers, and squinting at Derek. “I have a _right_ to know. My wolf recognizes Harry as mate, and you have no _idea_ how frustrating it is to know that _everyone_ seems to know what happened between him and me, that everyone _knows_ what happened to him, and I’m the one left in the dark. I think I _deserve_ something good to happen to me after everything, don’t you?”

Peter’s words left Derek shocked for a moment, and the younger werewolf stared at Peter, trying to wrap his mind around what Peter had just told him. He, and possibly everyone else, always saw Peter as the villain, the one who’d started it all.

But he hadn’t always been how he is now. The enormity of the long coming epiphany left Derek breathless and conflicted.

“Besides, you should know better than _anyone_ how it is to have a mate and not be able to be with them,” said the elder Hale in an off-handed way, shrugging one shoulder.

The silence which settled between them was deafening. Derek stared at Peter, eyes slightly wide, until seconds later when they darkened, turning beta-gold for a mere second before Derek stood up and walked over to the dining table, staring out the huge window with arms crossed over his chest.

It took Peter less than that to realize what he had said, and he took a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before blowing it out sharply and standing up. At least he is man enough to do this.

“I’m sorry,” he bit out, the words tasting foreign and heavy on his tongue.

“No,” Derek spoke, voice strained, and he glanced over his left shoulder at Peter. “In a way you’re right.” The werewolf raised an eyebrow at his nephew, taken aback by lack of any violent reactions.

It appeared as though Derek really _had_ come a long way since he made Peter use Talia’s claws in a ritual which allowed Derek to speak to his mother. The young werewolf was much calmer, apparently having let go of the guilt weighing him down.

“Besides,” Derek spoke up, interrupting Peter’s appraisal of the younger werewolf, “my wolf hasn’t recognized Kate as mate in quite a while now.” Peter’s eyebrows narrowed in slight confusion and he took a few steps closer to Derek who looked back at the huge window and the starless sky outside, the new moon shining weak light over the sleeping city of Beacon Hills.

“How do you mean that?” Peter questioned and Derek hummed, turning around and leaning back against the table, shrugging massive shoulders.

“I’ve been in her presence recently,” he mused, licking his lips before he looked at Peter again. “My wolf showed nothing but resentment towards her. She’s no longer my mate.”

Peter’s lips parted in confusion as he wrecked his brain trying to come up with an answer to this phenomenon. “That’s… Is there someone _else?_ Because your wolf wouldn’t have denied Kate as your mate if he hadn’t found someone better suited for you than her,” he reasoned, taking a small step towards Derek who frowned and looked at the ground, eyes darkening as he thought on whether he should share this with his uncle or not.

“There _is_ someone else,” Derek spoke hesitatingly, looking at his uncle from under thick black eyebrows, as though wary of Peter’s reaction, “although it shouldn’t be possible.”

“How do you mean that?” Peter asked, taking another hesitant step towards Derek, squinting at the younger man as though he was trying to figure out a puzzle.

“Because the – _he_ is still not of age, and yet my wolf recognizes his scent as the scent of my mate,” Derek bit out, as though he _really_ didn’t want to share this with Peter – with _anyone_ – but couldn’t hold it in anymore, the fact slowly grating on his nerves.

Peter swallowed audibly, taking a small step back as he rolled Derek’s words through his mind. “People don’t always come of age when they’re eighteen years old, Derek,” he spoke almost warily. “Sometimes, in really extreme situations, people can mature _very_ quickly.”

Derek looked in Peter’s eyes with a frown, weighing the words, while the older werewolf went through every single fact he knew, every single person he knew that had been in Derek’s proximity recently towards whom Derek has shown different behavior than before.

And he didn’t have to think for long.

“It’s Stiles, isn’t it,” he murmured, his words more of a statement than a question, and Derek merely looked at Peter, nodding minutely in answer. Peter took a deep breath, brushing his fingers through his hair before his hands flopped against his sides and he walked over to the closest armchair, heavily taking a seat.

He perched his right elbow on the armrest and covered his lips with his right fist, left hand resting on the other armrest, fingers tapping an undefined, quick rhythm.

“I didn’t think it was possible,” Derek spoke quietly. “I thought my mind was playing tricks on me.”

“Stiles has been possessed by a Nogitsune,” Peter murmured, “a thousand year old creature. It is not surprising that he would reach maturity earlier than he is supposed to.” He met Derek’s eyes, finding the younger werewolf staring in his direction and yet not really seeing him. “The question now lies in what you’ll do about it.”

“What _should_ I do about it?” Derek bit out, gaze coming to sharp focus, and Peter snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Derek, that child has been _pining_ after you for _months_ ,” he drawled, almost _amused_ and Derek looked away from him, tucking his hands inside the pockets of his jeans as he took a few steps towards the kitchen, coming to a stop with his head bowed and gaze focused on the floor. “Your nose is better than mine. You can’t tell me that you didn’t notice-”

“I _did_ ,” Derek pressed out, head tilting slightly to the side to make it possible for him to look at Peter, eyes shadowed with something the older werewolf couldn’t name, “but that doesn’t mean-”

“It means _everything_ , Derek,” Peter interjected, and Derek turned around just a bit, staring at his uncle with a small frown, “because you _know_ that Stiles cares about you. For crying out loud, he went to _Mexico_ with a wizard he _obviously_ didn’t trust until – _what_ , a _day_ ago to save you!”

When Derek looked away from him, Peter huffed and stood up, approaching the younger man quickly and standing right in front of him, making Derek look up with sheer force of presence.

“How many times was Stiles there for you? How many times did he run when you called? How many times did he forsake _Scott_ , his _dad_ even, to be there for you?” Peter spoke hurriedly, Derek’s eyebrows narrowing more and more with each word rolling off of Peter’s lips. “And you _can’t_ tell me that you didn’t feel something for the kid even _before_ your wolf acknowledged his scent.”

Derek appeared taken aback when Peter said that making the older man smirk knowingly. Derek’s eyebrows rose a bit as though he had just come to a stunning conclusion, lips parting as he pulled his hands out of his pockets, fingers twitching a bit as Derek shifted his weight, turning slowly from Peter, and the older man could almost _hear_ wheels turning in Derek’s head.

“Stiles is still underage…” Derek murmured under his breath, hardly aware that he was speaking aloud only to turn around and look at Peter when he scoffed.

“He won’t be underage forever,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Besides, we’re talking about _Stiles_ here. I don’t think he cares for things such as age differences.”

Derek swallowed audibly looking at Peter, weighing his words. “We haven’t talked like this in a while…” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Peter snorted, “ever since-” he stopped abruptly, a frown marring his face as he squinted at the floor, “ever since _after_ you’ve started dating Paige.” Peter breathed out, frown darkening as he fisted his hands loosely by his sides, raising his head to look at Derek who was staring at him with wary suspicion. “Why – _when_ did we stop talking like this?”

Derek forced down a swallow, taking a small step away from Peter. The older werewolf was wrecking his brain. He and Derek used to be so very _close_. Peter was _always_ there for Derek being closest to him in age in their pack because Derek didn’t have any brothers, only Laura and Cora, and all of his cousins were older than him.

Peter and Derek had always been close with Peter helping Derek through _everything_ from school work to handling his first shifts during full moons. They had always talked about _everything_ until…

“When Derek?” breathed out Peter, trying with all his might to remember when his and Derek’s relationship changed, trying to remember _what_ changed it.

“Peter, let it go,” Derek insisted softly, and Peter looked at him with darkened eyes.

“This has something to do with Harry.” It wasn’t a question so Derek didn’t answer because the moment Peter spoke those words Derek’s heartbeat stuttered for no less than a _second_ , but it was long enough for Peter to catch it. “Derek. Tell. Me.” Peter pressed out through tightly clenched teeth, all frustration fading away when Derek didn’t respond angrily or defiantly, merely sighing and shaking his head.

“It’s not that easy,” Derek said, looking at Peter with actual sadness in his eyes. “If it were so easy to tell you everything, Harry would have already told you. I don’t have any doubt about it.”

“What is so hard about _telling me_ what I need to know?” Peter roared, his frustrations and anger, his _helplessness_ finally getting the better of him, but it seemed to simply brush off of Derek who shook his head with a quiet sigh.

“Peter we’ve lost _everything_ ,” Derek spoke calmly while Peter stared at him in obvious anger, breathing as though he ran a marathon, nails digging into the tender skin of his hands as his wolf threatened to show his face. “But everything with did after the fire was of our own making. Everything came out of the choices _we’ve_ made.”

Derek’s words seemed to stun Peter for a moment because the older werewolf recoiled a bit, eyes widening for the smallest of fragments.

“Harry was _taken_. He was _enslaved_. He was _forced_ to kill and torture for the better part of the past ten years, and he was _lied to_ on a daily basis, that everything he left behind when he was first in Beacon Hills was alright-”

“What are you-”

“And he returned to find everything different,” Derek continued speaking as though he didn’t hear Peter, staring at the other werewolf with solid intent. “ _Yes_ , you and Harry were together. _Yes_ , you were happy.”

Even though Peter had already assumed those things, he was still surprised that Derek had said them, not expecting to hear those words after everyone denying him for the past few days.

“And when he disappeared…” Derek’s lips opened and closed several times, as though the words he was about to speak felt heavy on his tongue. “Mom _had_ to lock your memories of him away, because you went _insane_.”

Peter took a small step back, shaking his head slowly from side to side.

“Peter-”

“No…” Peter blurted out, swallowing thickly, raising his right hand when Derek wanted to speak again only to shut up at the sight of Peter blinking rapidly. He shook his head then, his face a flurry of different emotions. He shook his head again and turned on his heel. “No.”

“Peter!” Derek called for his uncle when Peter made his way to the front entrance, not even bothering to grab his jacket, rushing out of the apartment and leaving the door open.

Derek huffed and rubbed his face with his hands, swallowing thickly as he let them flop to his sides before he placed them on his waist and looked around the empty apartment.

 _‘I screwed up big time,’_ he thought to himself before coming to what one might call a rash decision, grabbing his jacket on the way out and slamming the huge metal door closed. He needed to find Peter before the older werewolf did something he would later regret.

**cut**

“You’re still up?”

Scott raised his head, smiling at his mom when she walked into the living room only to raise her eyebrows at the sight of the few history books they owned strewn over the desk and Scott’s laptop in front of him.

“You’re _actually_ doing research,” she concluded, honestly impressed – and a little proud – and Scott laughed quietly rubbing the back of his head.

“Yeah,” he said, getting up to give his mom a hug with Melissa returning it tightly. “I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d do something useful.” Scott shrugged as though downplaying his words and Melissa smiled at him lovingly, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Well, why don’t I make us some sandwiches and coffee and you can tell me what you’ve come up with by now,” she said.

“I can do that,” Scott blurted out, making Melissa’s eyes widened slightly, and the young alpha smiled at her lovingly. “You just came home from work. Take a shower and change while I make sandwiches and coffee, okay?”

“Okay…” she squinted at him while dragging out the word, the corners of her lips twitching up in a smile. “ _I_ am gonna take this as a gift from heaven and _not_ question it.” She pecked Scott’s cheek and left the living room to her son’s laughter, and Scott went for the kitchen, starting the coffee-machine before moving for the fridge to make them sandwiches.

He laughed quietly when his mom came back, smelling of her favorite soap and already dressed in washed-out sweatpants, her favorite pair of thick, woolen socks and a time-worn gray hoodie Scott was almost a hundred percent _certain_ was his at one point, humming a light melody as she poured coffee into two cups adding milk and sugar into both.

Scott finished the sandwiches and placed them on plates, both of them making their way to the living room and taking seats in the couch.

“So!” Melissa spoke up as she took a hold of her sandwich moaning when she saw that it was just the way she liked it. “What did you-” she didn’t manage to finish her sentence because in that moment the doorbell sounded and the two exchanged a worried glance, both placing their sandwiches on their respective plates.

“Peter…” Scott breathed out when he caught a whiff of the older werewolf’s scent, and Melissa’s eyes widened minutely. “What is he doing here?” Scott murmured and stood up walking out of the living room, well aware that Melissa was right behind him.

He opened the door, sharing a glance with his mom, both of them losing their breaths when the sight that greeted them was anything but what they expected. Peter stood on the threshold, breathing as though he had run the width and length of Beacon Hills at _least_ ten times, eyes shadowed and skin pale, drops of sweat rolling down his face.

“Peter, what-”

“We need to talk,” Peter blurted out, interrupting Scott, and the young alpha took a small step back, frowning in confusion while Peter glanced at Melissa, his lips opening and closing several times as he tried to press something past them. “ _Please_ ,” he finally choked out and Scott exchanged a glance with his mom who looked at Peter a second later, immediately seeing the desperation hidden deep in Peter’s eyes that brought him to their doorstep at ass-o’clock in the morning.

“Come in,” Scott murmured and moved to the side and Melissa walked into the kitchen to pour another cup of coffee. Scott closed and locked the door behind Peter and they made their way into the living room with Peter immediately starting to pace, and Scott could actually _taste_ the former alpha’s frustration and – dare he say – _desperation_.

Melissa walked into the room placing the cup of coffee on the tea-table before she came to stand beside Scott crossing her arms over her chest and shifting her weight from foot to foot as she stared at Peter with obvious discomfort, but before she could speak Peter stopped in mid- step and spun around to look at Scott, accentuating every word with frantic gesticulations of his hands.

“Scott, I need you to unlock my memories,” he pressed out in a tight, strained voice, making Melissa recoil almost noticeably and the young alpha frown.

“Peter, we’ve already talked about this,” Scott spoke firmly. “Until Harry says otherwise, I won’t…”

“Scott, I _need_ to know,” Peter pressed out, voice breaking. “My wolf is driving me up the _walls_ howling for him, and with everyone _constantly_ implying that we’ve been together, with him _denying_ me the right to know I’ll go fucking _insane_!” he snapped, clenching his hands into fists as he shook them as though he was shaking something away from himself, going back to frustrated pacing.

“Harry, must have a reason for not wanting you to remember-”

“And what about what I want?” Peter roared as he spun on his heel, slamming his hands against his chest. “What about what I _need_? What about that?”

Scott looked at Melissa and her head twitched towards him, the woman looking slightly frightened with the older werewolf’s presence.

“Besides, Harry _wants_ me to remember!” the mother and son looked at Peter when he pressed that out, voice laced with a silent growl, frustrated beyond belief with the whole thing. “He’s just too good at _lying_ to himself and everyone around him to admit it.” Peter seemed to calm down at least somewhat, going back to pacing although a bit slower now, his hands still clenched into fists so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“He says that there’s no _sense_ in bringing back my memories,” Peter spat out, a hardly audible growl rumbling in his chest, telling Scott that Peter’s wolf was just short of coming out. “That I don’t need him in my life, that he doesn’t _want_ me to remember, and all the time – every word he said to me…” he slowly came to a stop his back turned on Melissa and Scott, the two staring at the werewolf with wide eyes hardly able to follow him.

“His every word was _dripping_ with remorse,” Peter spoke quietly, slowly turning around, looking confused more than frustrated, and it wouldn’t take a genius to realize that he really _wanted_ to remember, _needed_ to, as a matter of fact. “He sounded regretful…” Peter murmured as though he was thinking aloud. “He sounded resigned.”

The former alpha looked at Scott, gaze focused and strong, and Peter swallowed audibly as he took a small step towards Scott and Melissa. “Harry said that he doesn’t want me to remember,” Peter spoke slowly, voice strained, each word passing past his tightly clenched teeth dripping with urgency, “but I _heard_ the lie in _each. Word._ ”

“But why would he say that?” Scott asked, looking at his mother, remembering Harry’s reaction to finding out that Peter was alive, the desperation in Harry’s eyes when he found out that Peter doesn’t remember him, the raw, undiluted _pain_ which rolled off of Harry every time Peter’s name would roll off of his lips. “Why would he say that he doesn’t want you to remember when in truth he _does_?”

Heavy silence settled over the room as Scott stared at Peter, confusion clearly visible in those chocolate brown eyes while the older werewolf stared in them, quietly _begging_ – for he would never truly beg– for Scott to agree and unlock his memories.

“He wants to protect you…” Melissa’s quiet whisper made the two men look at her, and she turned her gaze full of sadness and understanding to Peter who frowned at her in obvious confusion. “Harry truly loved you, Peter,” she spoke, lips tilting up into a small smile. “What you and he had before it was – it was _beautiful_. But he was also a different man.”

She licked her lips, swallowing thickly, hugging her arms tighter around her waist.

“He is not the same man he was ten years ago, when you were together, and right now, you don’t love him the way you did then-”

“Well _maybe_ if I could _remember-_ ”

“Maybe,” Melissa stressed out, looking straight into Peter’s eyes, “maybe you would love him again, and _maybe_ you would despise him, and Harry wouldn’t be able to handle that because he _still_ loves you, even after finding out about everything you did. He _still_ loves you, and in a way I can understand why he doesn’t want you to remember him.”

Her lips twitched into a smile full of sadness, eyes brimming with tears. “In his place, I wouldn’t want you to remember as well, but…” she looked at Scott and the teen wolf frowned at her in confusion. “I would also hope that you _would_ remember.”

Scott looked at Peter finding him staring at Melissa in slight shock.

“Mom, Harry said-”

“Harry _lied_ ,” Melissa whispered, sadness filling his eyes. “Son, Harry wouldn’t have returned to Beacon Hills if he didn’t hope to find something here. I don’t know what all happened to him, but I’ve known him quite well when he was first here, and he was _happiest_ after he-” she looked at Peter, licking her lips and swallowing audibly, “after he started dating Peter. I found out who he was dating now, when Harry came back, but I _know_ that Harry has been happiest when they were together.”

Scott looked at Peter, staring deep in the older werewolf’s eyes, teeth pressed tightly together as he tried to figure out what to do, one thing rolling through his mind. “Peter was also a different man back then,” he spoke up and the former alpha frowned at him.

Scott looked at his mother when she placed a gentle hand on his right forearm, offering a small, reassuring smile. “And maybe together they would be able to become the men they once were.”

“Nothing guarantees that Harry and Peter would be together again even if Peter gets back his memories,” Scott countered, glancing at Peter before he looked at Melissa again. “He doesn’t even know…”

“I know,” Peter blurted out without waiting for Scott to finish, _seeing_ that the young alpha’s resolution was slowly losing strength, determination wavering. “Derek already told me what he knows.”

Now that was nowhere _near_ the truth, but Peter wasn’t known as a good-two-shoes, and no one would ever call him one either.

Scott’s mouth opened and closed several times and he looked at Melissa, quietly asking for advice. Knowing he was close to getting what he wanted – and _really_ not caring anymore what means he would have to use – Peter used the greatest weapon anyone could ever use against Scott McCall to great success.

“Please,” Peter pleaded, feeling as though there was a small stone on his tongue, “Scott, I _need_ to remember him. I _need_ to remember what we’ve had.” Scott forced down a swallow, his resolution failing him almost completely. “ _Help me remember_ ,” Peter urged in a tight, broken voice, practically _hearing_ Scott’s determination snap.

“Alright,” breathed the young alpha, nodding his head slowly, receiving a small encouraging squeeze to his forearm from Melissa who gifted him with a loving smile. “Alright,” he spoke in a stronger voice and looked at Peter, seeing the former alpha breathe out in relief and straighten in his place, nodding minutely at Scott. “What do I need to do?”

**cut**

Harry huffed as he rubbed his face in annoyance after throwing the book he has been reading in search for answers aside. The Stilinski house was silent and Harry knew he was the only one awake, unable to sleep with his mind running in circles trying to make sense of everything that has happened in the past days.

“This is pointless,” he pressed out through his teeth and jumped off of the bed, grabbing his leather jacket off of the back of a chair and making his way out into the hallway. Careful not to make a sound, Harry hurried down the stairs and quickly tugged on his shoes before pulling on his jacket.

He walked out into the crisp, midnight air bypassing his car and making his way towards the forest surrounding Beacon Hills in a steady jog, intent to run off some of the frustrations and worries plaguing his mind.

He couldn’t think clearly, hundreds of thoughts buzzing in his head making no sense what so ever. The possibility of Derek dying from whatever Kate did to him, the Nemeton’s power awakening and drawing heavens know _what_ to Beacon Hills with possibly _catastrophic_ consequences, and _Peter_.

Peter, the man Harry didn’t expect to find alive, his former lover that no longer remembered him, the only man Harry had ever truly loved, and the one man he still loved more than anything in the world.

Harry’s light jog turned into steady running, and he blinked a couple of times quickly, trying to chase away the betraying tears of frustration stinging his eyes. He lied – of _course_ he lied – when he said that he didn’t want Peter to remember. He wanted more than _anything_ to tell Peter everything, to make him remember what they used to have, to maybe – just _maybe_ ignite the fire that once burned between them.

Harry wanted Peter to remember him, to find out everything that happened to him. He wanted to be able to hold Peter and be held by the werewolf again. He wanted Peter to touch him the way he used to, to _kiss_ him in that way that used to chase away every single bad thought and memory from Harry’s mind.

He wanted to touch Peter again, to breathe in his scent freely, and to soak in the werewolf’s warmth which often threatened to ignite his very _soul_ only to envelop it in burning flames which never harmed him and only made him stronger and better.

Harry wanted Peter to whisper to him the way he used to, to murmur sweet, silly nothings into his ear as they sit in front of the fire deep in the forest or snuggle under blankets in front of the muted TV, fingers entwined and completely sated and content, simply _being_ together with no urgency or pressing matters.

Harry wanted to belong to Peter again, he wanted the werewolf to call him _his_ again, to dot around him like he used to, telling Harry that he needed to eat more because he was too thin, only to snap at him later telling him that ice-cream and pizza weren’t _real_ food and that he should have at least ordered something _better_ if he was already ordering take-out.

Harry wanted his life with Peter back. He wanted his lover – his _mate_ back.

But the price was – in his opinion – too high.

The chance of him and Peter ever having that same relationship again was nonexistent. Both Harry and Peter changed. They aren’t the same men they were ten years ago. And while Peter is on the mend, slowly becoming the man he was back then, albeit more sarcastic, more _careful_ and wiser, Harry hadn’t gotten _any_ closer to getting better.

And despite everything Harry had said to Stiles, he knew that it wouldn’t take much to break him.

And that was something Harry couldn’t allow.

He couldn’t allow himself to break. Too many people had worked hard on helping him, too many have done _wonders_ to bring him out of Britain and make sure that he would never have to go back again. Breaking would be like stomping down on their efforts.

And Harry couldn’t allow that.

No. He couldn’t allow that.

Despite his wishes, despite what he wanted most, Harry wouldn’t allow that, and that meant that he wouldn’t allow Peter to remember. Peter would most certainly deny him, because to Peter’s wolf, it would be as though Harry had abandoned him.

The wolf would despise him. The wolf would deny Harry as mate.

And Harry wouldn’t be able to stand that. He wouldn’t be able to look in Peter’s eyes and see hatred and despise. He wouldn’t survive that.

So despite that little voice in the back of his head telling him that there _is_ still hope, that if only Peter would allow Harry to explain everything there might still be something between them, Harry wouldn’t allow hope to take root in his heart.

He would rather have Peter not remembering him than hating him, and so he would do everything in his power to stop Peter from having his memories unlocked, whatever it might take.

**cut**

“Damn it,” Derek grit out through his teeth, looking around through the ruins of his family home. He ran here in search of Peter, hoping to find his uncle here and calm him down enough to stop Peter from doing something stupid.

Unfortunately, Peter was more than good at concealing his scent, so Derek just couldn’t track him down. And now, Derek had no idea where to look for Peter, not knowing where the older werewolf stayed when he wasn’t in Derek’s apartment.

 _‘Where could he have gone?’_ he thought, wrecking his brain, trying to think like his uncle.

And then it hit him.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he breathed out and broke into a run, wind singing in his ears as he prayed to reach Scott McCall’s house in time. _‘I should have kept my fucking mouth shut!!’_

**cut**

“Are you sure about this?” Scott asked, suddenly quite uncertain.

He was about to stab his claws in Peter’s neck, _of course_ he was uncertain.

“Don’t worry,” Peter spoke, glancing at Melissa who sat in the armchair facing the two werewolves, her eyes wide, shoulders tense and hands fisted on her knees. Peter reached behind with his right hand, adjusting Scott’s fingers carefully, before he took a deep breath and wrapped his hands around the armrests of the chair he was sitting in. “I just need you to open my mind. I’ll do the rest.”

Scott nodded and breathed out slowly, exchanging another short glance with his mother before he took a firm hold of Peter’s left shoulder, getting ready to start.

“Here goes nothing,” mumbled the alpha, and before another second could pass, he dug his claws into the back of Peter’s neck, immediately pressing down on the older werewolf’s shoulder to hold him down.

**cut**

Harry came to a sharp stop, gasping for air, his legs trembling under his weight, and he leaned against the closest tree for support until he caught his breath. He looked around with a squint, concluding that he ran deeper into the forest than he intended to, knowing that he would have to make his way back if he wanted to get any sleep what so ever.

He hit his head back against the tree, swallowing thickly although his throat was dry, eyes slipping closed and his head lolling to the side as he slowly slid down to sit on the moist forest ground.

When his breathing finally calmed down Harry opened his eyes and looked to the side only to freeze up. There, in the middle of a clearing just past a line of trees was the Nemeton, the source of some, if not _most_ of their troubles.

Licking his dry lips, Harry slowly climbed to his feet, his limbs aching and heavy, but he made his way towards the old stump, feeling his magic sizzling just under his skin. Concluding that he must have unconsciously ran towards the Nemeton, its power calling to his own magic, Harry walked onto the clearing surrounding it.

He could feel the waves of pure power rolling off of the Nemeton in unsteady waves, rippling in the air, _vibrating_ in the earth, almost able to see the tendrils of ancient, _deep magic_ spreading to all sides of the world, summoning all those in search for power for whatever reason to it, _begging_ to be used again as it was in old times.

Harry stopped beside the old stump. His right hand trembled as he bowed down, placing it flat on the dry wood, only to yelp and jump back when a surge of electricity passed up his right arm, making it go numb.

He rubbed his forearm with his left hand, feeling his circulation improve slightly as he looked at it only to still completely at the sight of his right hand. He had carried these scars for over nine years. He knew every jagged line, every _curve_ of the horror that was his right hand and forearm, and the sight of his fingers practically perfectly _normal_ , made his heart beat faster.

He looked at the Nemeton, everything he knew about healing magic running through his mind, all of it coming down on _‘impossible’_ and _‘how can this be_ ’. He raised his right hand and traced the scarred digits and his palm with the tips of his fingers, concluding that _without a doubt_ , the scars had grown only slightly darker in color and were less jagged.

Looking at the Nemeton again, Harry felt a brush of warm wind dance around his body, and his heart played in his chest as he slowly took another step closer to the Nemeton.

 _“You wish to be free of them?”_ a body-less voice whispered in his ear, kind and understanding. _“You wish to be free of the scars marring your body? Of the darkness consuming your soul?”_

“Yes…” he breathed out weakly, feeling as though warm hands took hold of his scarred forearm, slowly leading him closer to the Nemeton.

 _“We have been awakened, but there is no one to tame our power,”_ a shiver of warmth passed over Harry’s body. _“We cannot contain it.”_

A voice in the back of Harry’s mind screamed at him to run away, that he had no idea what was going on and that this could lead to nothing good, but the warmth was so inviting, the invisible hands so tender and comforting, the voice so full of kindness and care that it quieted down his doubts.

 _“We do not wish for chaos to reign,”_ whispered the voice in his ear as the invisible hands made Harry touch the Nemeton again. _“We need someone to contain our power.”_

A choked up grunt left Harry’s lips as a forceful surge of pure, unrefined magic entered his body, and pain burst in his right shoulder, his ribs, his pelvis and his right knee. Pain such as he hadn’t felt in quite a while now.

_“We need someone to use our power.”_

A pained scream escaped Harry’s lips as he collapsed to his knees, his mind going blank as agony overtook him.

_“You will suffice.”_

**cut**

Derek’s heart fell to his stomach and he came to a sharp stop when a scream of pure agonizing pain echoed through the forest, and his eyes widened with fear filling every pore in his body, stealing his breath away.

“Harry…”

**cut**

Peter gasped as he stumbled, quickly looking around, eyes wide as he tried to catch his breath and regain his balance. He turned on his heel, confused as to where he was, only to remember that he had managed to convince Scott to help him regain his memories, something he couldn’t believe he actually managed to achieve.

Taking a calming deep breath, Peter looked around again only to frown when he realized that he was deep in the forest, _very_ close to the Nemeton, and that it was quite dark outside, although there weren’t many stars in the sky, which meant that night had fallen recently.

The sound of branches snapping under running feet had Peter spinning on his heel and his eyes widened when he saw himself – albeit ten years _younger_ – running in his direction.

He followed his younger self with a squinting stare, running after him without really thinking about it. Not a minute later, his younger self stopped quite abruptly, spinning on his heel and taking a deep breath, confusion and surprise coloring the young, almost _teenage_ looking face, before the younger Peter broke into a sprint going in the opposite direction.

He chased after his younger self, suddenly knowing what had him do this. There was a scent in the air, a scent unlike any Peter had ever smelled, and yet so painfully _familiar_ that it made his heart constrict in his chest.

A sign of movement caught Peter’s eye and he looked to the side, his eyes widening when he realized what would happen if his younger self didn’t slow down. “Watch-” he didn’t even have time to finish his thought when two surprised yelps echoed through to forest, two bodies tumbling on the ground and rolling down a small hillside.

Peter came to a stop on top of a hill, staring down at the two men entangled on the hard forest ground, both groaning as they attempted to untangle themselves from one another.

As they rose to their feet, brushing off the leafs and dirt off of their clothes, Peter’s heart started beating faster and faster, his eyes widening as the man his younger self tackled looked up, and Peter got a first good look at him seeing the younger face of Harry Potter, emerald eyes shining with amusement and lush lips twitching in a smile even as he struggled to suppress it, only _one_ thought running through Peter’s mind as his younger self stared at Harry gaping and fumbling for words.

_‘Beautiful.’_

“I am _so sorry_ ,” apologized the younger Peter profoundly, hands hovering in the air as his gaze racked over the slight form of Harry Potter, searching for any sign of injuries. “I didn’t see you, I _swear_ , I didn’t-”

“Then I suppose you don’t make a habit of tackling people in the middle of the forest!” Harry spoke cheerfully, brushing some dirt off of his sweatpants before he straightened again and looked in younger Peter’s eyes.

“Well, since people don’t usually run this deep, no, I have to say that I don’t,” Harry laughed brightly again, his expression light with a blush tinting his cheeks, and Peter knew _exactly_ how his younger self felt as he stared at the raven haired man, the sweetest, most _perfect_ scent that ever tempted Peter’s senses overwhelming him and taking over his mind.

Peter felt as though he was right there, staring at Harry’s handsome, smiling face less than half a meter away from the wizard, as though he was right there being bewitched by the scent of rain and fresh-cut grass, of air just before a thunderstorm, and he felt as though his knees would betray him when that pair of perfect emerald eyes, alight with amusement and adrenalin pumping through his veins looked in the eyes of his younger self, lips just _begging_ to be kissed tilting up into a bright smile.

“Well, then, since we’ve already run into one another,” Harry spoke lightly, in a heavy British accent, and Peter discovered – or _re-_ discovered as it appeared – that he seemed to have developed a fetish for velvety voices, underlain with honey and ages all whiskey belonging to a raven haired, emerald eyed Englishman. “Harry Potter,” he introduced himself and offered his right hand, the younger Peter accepting it immediately.

Peter felt as though he was the one holding that hand, unblemished and soft, a surge of something warm and electrifying passing up and down his spine, leaving him tongue-tied.

“Peter,” his younger self blurted out, just as tongue-tied as he felt, “Peter Hale.”

“Well then, Mr. Hale,” Harry spoke in a slight teasing drawl, “while it was _fun_ literally _running into you_ , I should make my way back.” He let go of younger Peter’s hand, and took a small step back, tucking both hands in the pockets of the comfortable, well-worn, dark green hoodie. “I’ll see you around.”

He walked past younger Peter, jogging up the small hill, and Peter’s eyes widened when the sense of urgency almost overwhelmed him. “Wait!!” he shouted at the same time as his younger self, and Harry stopped in his tracks looking down at younger Peter, head tilted slightly to the left in curiosity.

“Yes?” he asked, and younger Peter cleared his throat.

Peter could feel his heart beating as though it wanted to fly right out of his chest bursting with something he couldn’t yet name, the only thing in his mind being that he had to make sure he would see this man again.

“Would you – would you at least let me buy coffee for you?” Harry’s eyebrows met the line of his hair, and Peter actually _felt_ the spark of desperation his younger self felt, “As apology for tackling you like that!”

Harry hummed, head tilting to the right, those perfect emeralds staring at younger Peter as though he was appraising him. “Sure,” he answered after what felt like a small eternity, and younger Peter so _obviously_ breathed out in relief that Harry chuckled in amusement. “I work the morning shift next Friday. Why don’t you come by the station around three, and you can apologize again.”

Peter almost grinned at the same time as his younger self, but he instead focused on Harry’s face, taking in the young features and glimmering emerald eyes.

“Station?” younger Peter asked, frowning in slight confusion, and Harry chuckled lightly.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m a Deputy of Beacon Hills Police.” Younger Peter’s eyes widened for the smallest of fragments. “Is that a problem? I _promise_ I won’t sue you for _tackling_ an officer,” he drawled teasingly.

“No, no, no!” younger Peter waved his hands almost frantically. “Friday, three PM. See you then.”

“Good,” Harry nodded and turned his back on younger Peter only to stop not three paces further and turn around, “and I drink tea,” he added, stunning younger Peter but paying him no heed as he started a slow run back into town, quickly disappearing in the darkness of the forest.

Before Peter could contemplate what happened everything started spinning around him, and all of a sudden he was standing in broad daylight in front of the Station, watching his younger self as he struggled not to hop in his place, nibbling on his bottom lip, hands pushed deep in the pocket of the dark blue jean jacket he wore over a pair of jeans and a light, white T-shirt.

Peter looked towards the front door of the station and his heartbeat stuttered when Harry walked out immediately glancing around, lips tilting in a grin when those amazing emeralds settled on younger Peter.

“Mr. Hale!” Harry greeted warmly, walking over to younger Peter and immediately offering his right hand, and Peter watched his younger self fumbling for a moment before he accepted the offered hand in a firm handshake. “To be perfectly honest, I didn’t think you would show up.”

“I hope this is a pleasant surprise though,” answered young Peter, and the older one felt a spark of amusement and excitement surge through him, especially when Harry smirked and looked at the younger Peter from under messy bangs, emerald eyes glimmering with mischief.

“I have to admit that I _am_ looking forward to that coffee,” Harry drawled and slowly walked past Peter who hurried to catch up with Harry, fighting back the huge grin that wanted to tilt his lips and struggling to act normal.

Before Peter could actually follow them the world around him shifted and spun, and a startled cry escaped him when something like a _gong_ echoed through his mind, words and images flashing around him of younger him and Harry spending time in quiet little cafés, never twice in the same one, of him and Harry running through the forest late at night.

He could actually _feel_ something stirring in his heart, _emotions_ awakening and growing, and all of a sudden everything stopped and he opened his eyes to find himself standing in front of the Hale House, perfect just as it used to be, seeing his younger self running out onto the front porch just in time to see a gray _Mazda MX-5_ roll elegantly onto the front lawn, engine purring almost _seductively_ before falling quiet, and younger Peter hurried over to it.

The front door opened and Harry stepped out, a loving smile tilting his lips and eyes glimmering with happiness when young Peter stopped in front of him, all but _bursting_ with excitement.

“I didn’t think you’d show up,” Peter said, almost breathless and Harry chuckled as he closed the door of his car, not bothering to lock it.

“You invited me to lunch with your family,” Harry spoke, the two of them walking towards the house, “and I really want to meet them.”

“Yeah, but I thought – since we’re _friends_ and all that – that you’d consider this…”

“Excessive?” Harry finished for younger Peter, lips tilted up in a smirk and he stopped in his tracks making Peter frown as a flash of something he couldn’t name flittered through his heart, younger Peter stopping as well and turning to look at Harry. “Peter, I…”

“Pete!” the two turned to look at the doorway and Peter’s heart ached when he saw Derek standing there, grinning brightly at the two, eyes wide and actually _happy_.

Younger Peter chuckled and raised his left arm towards Derek who hurried down the stairs and over to them, neatly ducking under Peter’s raised arm and wrapping his right arm around Peter’s waist, lake-green eyes racking over Harry’s form while the wizard smiled at the seventeen year old werewolf.

“Harry, this is my nephew Derek Hale,” introduced young Peter and Harry offered Derek his hand, the young werewolf sneaking his arm from around Peter to shake it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Derek,” Harry greeted warmly. “I’m Deputy Harry Potter.”

“Yeah, I know,” Derek chuckled, glancing at his uncle. “Pete just wouldn’t shut up about you.” Harry cocked at eyebrow at younger Peter who cleared his throat, although his lips twitched in a smirk as he ruffled Derek’s hair making the teen dance out of his reach, laughing. “Come on! Everyone’s already in the dining room.” Derek ran off and Harry and Peter made their way after him albeit at a slower pace.

“I’m sorry for being late,” Harry spoke quietly. “Didn’t want to come here in my uniform,” he apologized and Peter rolled his eyes, placing his right hand on the small of Harry’s back as they walked up the porch, stopping at the open door.

“Harry, you’re not here to impress my family,” young Peter said looking straight in Harry’s eyes, gray orbs full of warmth Peter could actually _feel_ filling his heart, _surging_ through his body.

He felt as though he was standing right there in front of Harry, staring into those perfect viridian depths looking at him in confusion.

“You could have come here wearing torn jeans and a hoodie, and I’d be proud to introduce you to my family,” young Peter spoke in full certainty, and Peter _knew_ that he was honest.

“Well then,” Harry stopped the clear his throat, shifting his weight and licking dry lips, young Peter’s gaze darting to those light pink petals, and a surge of desire passed down Peter’s spine, settling in the pit of his stomach. “Let’s meet your family then.”

All of a sudden Peter found himself standing in the corner of the dining room of his old home, a choked up breath escaping his lips when he found Laura and Cora adding finishing touches to the table, Sebastian Hale already sitting to the right of the head and Talia and Derek bringing home-made dishes onto the table, all of them quite excited, although only Derek and Cora were actually _showing_ it.

Tears stung Peter’s eyes as he looked around the brightly lit room, sun breaking through big windows, light wooden walls decorated with paintings of beautiful sceneries and family photos.

“We’re here!” young Peter called out as he and Harry entered the room, and Peter looked at the two of them, immediately noticing that Harry seemed somewhat uncomfortable.

“Ah, you must be Deputy Potter!” Sebastian spoke up, rising from the table and straightening to his full, quite intimidating height, although his kind, deep brown eyes belied his appearance, the kind smile on his face charming and welcoming as he wrapping his right arm around Talia’s waist, the alpha of the Hale Pack offering Harry a kind, motherly smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Harry spoke as he slowly approached them, first shaking hands with Talia and then with Sebastian. “Thank you for having me.”

“It is our pleasure,” Talia spoke in a warm, gentle voice, her lake-green eyes taking Harry in quickly, a smile tilting her lips as she glanced at Peter who stood in the doorway, struggling to conceal his nervousness. “Peter has told us a lot about you, Deputy Potter.”

“Please,” Harry spoke up, “call me Harry.”

“That’s quite an accent you have there!” Laura spoke up finally, walking over to Harry and shaking his hand in a firm grip. “Laura Hale,” she said and Harry laughed quietly at the happy glimmer in her eyes.

“Nice to meet you,” he spoke somewhat dryly and she winked at him, all but bouncing over to what was her usual seat around the table.

Peter’s heart skipped a beat when Harry looked down at seven year old Cora, the little girl staring up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, small hands clasped in front of her chest.

“And _you_ must be little, Cora, right?” Harry asked kindly as he crouched, offering his right hand to the beautiful little girl.

“Yeah,” she answered shyly, blushing brightly when Harry gently took her hand in his, giving it a light shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cora,” he murmured gently, the little girl's blush darkening as she took a step away from Harry who laughed quietly and stood up, looking at young Peter when he came closer and placed a hand on the small of Harry’s back.

“Why don’t we all take seats at the table before the food goes cold?” Talia suggested and everyone moved around quickly, young Peter leading Harry over to the free seat to the left of where Peter usually sat.

Everything faded out again and a heartbeat later Peter found himself standing in what used to be his bedroom, forcing down a heavy swallow as he looked around, his gaze landing on the comfortable armchair resting beside a big window, a book he had been reading placed neatly on the right armrest and an empty cup resting on a tall small tea-table to the left of the armchair.

He spun on his heel when the door opened and young Peter walked in, closely followed by Harry. “And this is my room,” he spoke, walking in, and Peter reflexively moved into a corner, watching everything with wide eyes, squeezing his eyes tightly shut when an incredible surge of pain made his eyes water.

“Your house is beautiful,” Peter heard Harry’s voice as though the wizard was speaking through water, and he forced himself to open his eyes even as the pain became so big that his knees betrayed him making him lean back against the wall, “and your family is amazing.”

“Wait till you meet all of them,” young Peter drawled, rubbing his hands against his thighs in a nervous gesture as he looked anywhere but at Harry who squinted at him in confusion.

“Peter, is something wrong?” Harry asked, taking a careful step towards the young werewolf.

Young Peter took a deep breath, holding it for a moment as he stared at the wizard. “Harry, I…” he started only to choke up, lips opening and closing several times but no words passing them.

“Peter, you’re starting to freak me out here,” Harry tried joking, a nervous laugh escaping him and young Peter stilled completely, staring at Harry as though he was looking at the wizard for the first time. “Pete?”

“Aw fuck it,” young Peter pressed out and moved forward without another word, cupping Harry’s face within his hands and slamming his lips over the wizard’s, drawing a startled yelp from Harry that turned into a moan of pure bliss when Peter deepened the kiss, a low, hardly audible growl rumbling in Peter’s chest.

They parted, both breathing quickly, staring in each other’s eyes, neither knowing what to say.

“Should I have done that?” Peter asked, borderline hysteric, and Harry laughed breathlessly, hands wrapping around Peter’s wrists as he took a small step closer to the werewolf.

“Not if you don’t intend to do it again,” answered the wizard, “many, _many_ times,” Peter groaned and sealed his lips over Harry’s again, fingers entwining in Harry’s hair as the kiss turned frantic.

All of a sudden the pain in Peter’s head became almost unbearable, and he fell to his knees, covering his ears with his hands as an agonized scream left his lips overlapping with a painful howl of his wolf crying for his mate.

Memories that were locked away for a decade, of his and Harry’s first night together, of nights spent running through the forest or enjoying one another’s company in the quiet of Harry’s apartment; times spent with Peter’s family, playing chase with Derek and Cora, talking about everything and nothing with Talia and Sebastian, spending countless hours just _being_ …

And then everything stopped, and Peter’s eyes snapped open, finding himself kneeling on the floor of a well familiar bedroom; _Harry’s_ bedroom.

And all of a sudden he knew. He knew what would happen.

“Shhh…” Peter looked at the bed and at the two bodies entwined among rumpled sheets, seeing himself hiding his face in Harry’s neck, still deep within the wizard’s welcoming heat, unable to pull out because of the knot tying them together. “It’s okay. Everything’s alright.” Harry comforted quietly, but Peter knew that the wizard wasn’t as alright as he claimed to be.

Young Peter tilted his head to the side and kissed the palm of Harry’s hand before he rested his forehead on Harry’s, forcing down a difficult swallow, not even _trying_ to move until the knot eased up.

“You okay?” Harry murmured, nuzzling his nose against Peter’s, continuously brushing his fingers through Peter’s hair and over his cheeks, obviously knowing that it would make it easier for the werewolf to calm down a bit quicker.

Peter was hardly able to breathe as memories flashed through his mind, his heart beating faster and faster with each passing moment, nails digging into the tender skin of his palms.

“Are _you_ okay?” younger Peter asked and Harry laughed lightly, pecking his lover's quivering lips.

“I’m alright,” Harry answered in a soft whisper only to wince when younger Peter shifted his weight on his left forearm.

“Yeah, right,” young Peter muttered, placing his right hand on Harry’s left hip black veins climbing up his arm seconds later.

“I’ll get used to it with time,” Harry murmured lovingly and young Peter licked his lips, huffing as he shook his head and hid his face in Harry’s neck.

“You’re too damn perfect…”

Peter found it hard to breathe as horror and agony threatened to overtake his mind, memories of this particular night making _ice_ flow through his veins.

He remembered.

He finally remembered.

Young Peter winced as he braced his weight on his hands and slowly started to pull out of Harry, hearing the wizard’s heartbeat stutter and his breath hitch in his throat. The young werewolf collapsed on his side, but not before glancing between Harry’s legs, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that there was no blood on the white sheets.

Young Peter struggled for a moment with the covers, followed by Harry’s muffled laughter, and the werewolf lied back down, covering them both before he pulled Harry into his arms. He placed his hand on the small of Harry’s back, concentrating on taking what little pain remained away, and a small smile tilted his lips when Harry breathed out and relaxed against him, sneaking one arm around Peter’s waist before he tucked his head under Peter’s chin.

“Do you want to go to Macy’s for breakfast?” Harry murmured already half asleep. “I don’t need to be at the station before noon.”

Peter’s throat constricted as he remembered the secret he hadn’t told Harry that night. The secret the wizard wasn’t aware of to this day; the secret lying hidden in the nightstand drawer back in Peter’s room at the Hale House.  

“We could go to my house,” young Peter murmured, glad that Harry was already half asleep and didn’t notice slight nervousness flashing through Peter’s eyes as he gently trailed the tips of his fingers up and down Harry’s spine. “Talia is _dying_ to ask you a bit more about wards and such things.” Harry hummed and nuzzled his head against Peter’s chest.

“Sure,” he yawned and sighed. “We’ll do that.” Harry was asleep not a moment later, and young Peter licked his lips, kissing the top of Harry’s head again before he nuzzled his cheek against the velvety, black locks.

Peter let go of a sharp breath, tears of anger, of _rage_ , of agony and horror coursing through his veins ‘don’t fall asleep, don’t fall asleep, don’t fall asleep’ running through his mind as a mantra, but despite that everything went black as his younger self surrendered to dreams.

 _“Peter!”_ a familiar roar echoed through his consciousness as the scene shifted before him and he watched his younger self wake up to an empty bed and three unfamiliar scents slowly fading around him.

“Harry?” he saw his younger self slowly get out of bed, gray eyes filling with worry when he couldn’t hear the wizard moving around. “Harry!”

_“Peter, wake up!”_

In that moment, as rage and insanity threatened to overtake his mind, Peter suddenly found himself standing in the entrance hall of the station, standing right behind Scott, Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski, watching a man clad in black standing several meters in front of them.

“Peter!” he spun on his heel and found Scott standing there, the young alpha staring at him, eyes glowing red. “Peter, you need to come back-”

“What is-”

“These are _my_ memories,” Scott cut him off and Peter spun on his heel when he heard John address the man Peter _knew_ without needing to see his face.

“Harry?” John asked in a wavering voice, and the man turned around to face John slowly, clasping his hands behind his back as the right corner of those lush lips tilted up, viridian orbs warming noticeably and he saluted the Sheriff jokingly with a hardly audible snort.

Peter held his breath as he stared at Harry, unable _not_ to notice just how different the man was to what Peter now remembered, how broken and _damaged_ he was even though he stood tall and proud, his eyes betraying to all those who could see that he was everything _but_ fine.

“Hey, John,” he greeted, waving his right hand. “It’s been a while.”

“Peter…”

“No,” the werewolf interrupted the young alpha as the scene shifted again, and he and Scott found themselves in the living room of the Stilinski household, watching as Scott lost control over the wolf, launching at Harry who didn’t so much as _flinch_.

Harry met Scott in the space between them, slamming a hand firmly into Scott’s chest, flipping the alpha onto his back in a smooth continuous motion. There he held position, crouching over the young alpha with his right hand planted firmly over Scott’s heart and left clenched around Scott’s throat.

“Rein it in,” Harry bit out while Scott snarled and struggled against the raven haired man, his werewolf strength doing absolutely _nothing_ to help him fight the wizard off. “Rein it in, kid!” Harry snapped when Scott’s snarling turned more vicious and the teen lashed out with deadly clawed hands that Harry dodged effortlessly. “Ah, fuck it…” Harry covered Scott’s eyes with his left hand, and Peter gasped when he actually _felt_ Harry’s power wash over him like a tidal wave.

The scene shifted again, and Peter looked at Scott, eyes widening when he realized that they were in the back of a nice car, although how that was possible was beyond Peter since the car was packed full of teens with Harry in the driver’s seat.

“Harry?” Stiles spoke up in a strained voice, sounding somewhat sheepish and somewhat frightful at the same time as he scratched his head with his nails before he covered his face with his hands, and Peter looked at the rearview mirror, staring at the reflection of the wizard, still unable to connect the man he remembered, the man he remember and _lost_ to the one sitting in the front seat.

“What?” Harry asked, casting the teen beside him a confused glance.

“Peter isn’t dead.”

The reaction was instantaneous and even Peter and the Scott of present felt the force of the car coming to a sharp stop all of them breathing heavily as the air filled with something unimaginable, and Stiles looked at Harry with a scrunched up face, biting the inside of his tightly pressed lips as he clasped his hands between his thighs, staring at Harry who appeared utterly shocked to say the least.

The wizard was completely still, no sign of him even _breathing_ as he stared at the darkness surrounding them.

“Harry?” Stiles piped out, and Harry breathed out sharply, a quiet whimper escaping the choked up throat, as the wizard struggled to breathe. “Harry, you need to…”

“Alive?” Harry gasped in a wavering, broken voice and looked at Stiles, and Peter’s heart and guts twisted as he – through Scott’s senses – smelled Harry’s disbelief, his horror and shock. “He’s _alive_?”

“Harry, Peter isn’t the same man he was before!” memory-Scott blurted out and Harry turned around in his seat, allowing Peter and present Scott to see the storm in those viridian depths. “He - He’s the one who changed me, he _killed_ his own _niece_ …”

“No…” Harry shook his head in denial turning his back on Scott. “No, no, no, that’s not - that’s not possible.” Peter almost _whined_ at Harry’s determined denial.

“Harry, he tried to kill Derek and he…”

“No!” Harry snapped, wrapping his hands around the wheel as though he was trying to stop himself from hitting something or someone.

Stiles exchanged a quick glance with Scott and the girls before opening his mouth to say something, only to be left gaping when a pained gasp left Harry’s lips and he all but tackled the door open.

Peter and present Scott suddenly found themselves outside in the darkness, watching from a little ways to the side as Harry stumbled out of the car and hurried away from it while the teens gathered in front of the car.

Both Scott and Peter could see the expression of utter desperation on Harry’s face and the tears filling his eyes.

“Fuck!” The pain-filled roar turned into a heartbreaking scream, and Peter and present Scott couldn’t help but scurry backwards when something burst from Harry. Black, silver and dark green tendrils of what appeared to be electricity surged around the wizard in something resembling a globe, tearing up the ground and scorching the earth. Thunder rolled through the dark sky and the arcs of colored energy lashed out again before bursting into the sky, disappearing just before a heavy downpour fell over the land.

Before Peter could comprehend what happened, he and Scott found themselves standing in the corner of a hotel room, seeing the teens sitting on two separate beds with Harry sitting backwards in a chair in front of them.

In Peter’s eyes the wizard looked wary. He looked broken and weighed down, and once glance in those eyes he loved so, _so much_ told Peter everything he needed to know.

His wizard was broken by whatever happened to him since the night he disappeared.

“You wouldn’t…” Stiles gulped and Harry looked at him, darkened emerald eyes making Stiles shift uncomfortably and fist his hands on his thighs. “You wouldn’t _really_ burn the whole village down just to make them _talk_ , right?”

Harry chuckled darkly as he stood up, and with a flick of his right wrist the chair skidded back to under the window. “Don’t worry, Stiles,” Harry murmured, tucking his hands inside the pockets of his jacket. “I may have done a lot of things I’m not proud off, but I’ve never hurt an innocent.” He turned his back on them and made his way out of the room. “Now get some rest. You need it.”

“Peter!” the werewolf gasped when a hand wrapped around his right forearm and he felt as though something pushed against his back, and in the next moment he was stumbling forward, falling to his knees on the hard ground, gasping for air and struggling to breathe, his mind swirling with images and voices, his heart bursting with feelings suppressed together with memories locked away by his sister when Harry disappeared, and Peter’s inability to locate his mate - to find the men who took Harry – drove Peter insane.

“Peter calm down! You need to calm down!”

Peter looked up and found himself staring into alpha-red eyes of Scott McCall, the young alpha keeping a strong, grounding hold on Peter’s shoulders.

“He was taken – I couldn’t find him – he disappeared…”

“Peter, Harry’s right here. He’s alive and he’s well, and he’s back,” Scott spoke as firmly as he could, not knowing anything sans the fact that he needed to calm Peter down before the werewolf went insane in his search for Harry. “He’s back at Stiles’ place and you can see him soon, but you won’t be able to do that if you don’t _calm down_!”

The alpha’s roar merged with Scott’s voice, effectively shocking Peter’s wolf into submission, and Peter held his breath, blinking rapidly as he looked around, finding Melissa standing several feet away from him and Scott, staring at them with wide eyes.

“Peter, I don’t know what exactly happened,” Scott spoke in as calm a voice as he could possibly muster, and Peter looked at him drinking each word in as though they were the only thing saving him from losing his mind, “but according to what Harry said to Stiles he was taken from your bed by those who imprisoned him and forced him to work for them in the past. He didn’t leave you willingly and he didn’t-”

“I know…” Peter breathed out, blinking rapidly, flashes of memories overlapping in front of his eyes. “Harry would never – he would have never…” Before anyone could say anything else the phone rang and the three exchanged glances before Melissa ran into the hallway to answer it.

“Can you get up?” Scott asked and Peter nodded, climbing to his feet with Scott’s help, feeling as though his knees would betray him. “Peter?”

The older werewolf took a few steps back, licking his lips as he tried to gather his bearings, his memories swirling around his mind, arranging in proper order, filling the blanks he didn’t even _know_ were there until Scott unlocked the memories locked away by Talia.

His wolf was howling for their mate, howling for the one that was taken from their bed in the middle of the night, taken from the comfort of Peter’s arms and suffered heaven knows _what_ at the hands of those who took in.

“Peter…”

“Scott!” the two turned around and found Melissa standing in the hallway, eyes wide and skin pale.

“What happened?” Scott hurried to his mother, taking a firm hold of her shoulders.

“We need to go to Stiles’ house,” she spoke, glancing at Peter over Scott’s shoulder. “Something happened. Harry…” before she could finish Peter ran past both of them and out on the street, running as fast as his legs could carry him, not caring in the _least_ if anyone saw him.

“Peter!” he knew Scott and Melissa were right behind him, Stiles’ house being just around the corner, and Peter stopped at the front lawn, his mind registering both Harry’s and Derek’s scents separately, making him wonder shortly what Derek was doing there, but those thoughts quickly gave way to the need – to the frantic howling of his wolf – for the one they recognized as mate; for the one they now remembered.

“Peter…” Scott ran into the older werewolf, hands immediately landing on Peter’s shoulders, and Peter looked at Scott with a confused frown, watching as Melissa caught up with them only to run past them and straight into the house.

Exchanging a glance, the werewolves followed after her, finding her standing with Stiles in the hallway, the teen looking pale and wide-eyed.

“What happened?” Scott asked, leaving Peter in the doorway, not seeing the way the werewolf frowned and looked around taking a deep breath.

“Dad and I didn’t even know that Harry went out,” Stiles spoke in a wavering voice, more than obviously shaken, blinking rapidly and wringing his hands in front of his stomach, shoulders hunched as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I already called Deaton and he’s on his way here. Derek’s upstairs with dad-”

“Derek?” everyone turned to look at Peter when he spoke up and Stiles nodded minutely.

“He only said that he went to the forest looking for you and that instead he found Harry at the Nemeton,” Stiles answered in a hoarse voice.

“Where is Harry now?” Melissa asked, already rolling up her sleeves.

“Upstairs in the guestroom,” Stiles wasn’t even done answering when Peter was already making his way up the stairs, the others following him after they exchanged glances.

Peter followed the scent of Derek, John and Harry to the last room in the hallway finding the door open, and stopping in his tracks, his eyes widening at the sight, only half aware of Stiles, Scott and Melissa coming to a stop behind him.

“What’s going on?” Melissa called out, pushing past Peter and over to the bed, John moving out of her way while Derek merely looked up at her. He was sitting against the headboard with Harry cradled in his arms, the wizard’s head resting on Derek’s left shoulder.

Harry was paler than anyone has ever seen him, shallow breaths passing his lips, chest rising and falling too quickly for anyone’s tastes, his black t-shirt and sweatpants clinging to his body, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead and temples.

He was trembling within Derek’s hold as though he was cold, unable to warm up, eyelids pressed tightly together, pained lines on the sides of his eyes and between furrowed eyebrows.

“Dear god…” Melissa breathed out when she kneeled on the bed facing Derek, her gaze landing on Harry’s right arm with Derek’s right hand wrapped firmly around Harry’s wrist. Only then did they notice something _incredible_.

“Where are the scars?” Scott blurted out breathlessly.

Indeed, Harry’s right arm was clear of scars, a light dusting of hardly noticeable dark hairs covering his forearm.

“Lay him down,” Melissa murmured and Derek nodded, never taking his eyes off of Harry as he let go of the wizard’s hand and tucked his right arm under Harry’s thighs. He lifted the wizard up carefully, climbing to his knees before he laid Harry down in the middle of the bed. “I need scissors!”

Stiles ran off to find a pair while Scott and Peter walked into the room, the young alpha coming to stand beside John who stood by the window, arms crossed over his chest and staring at everything with wide eyes.

Peter stopped at the foot of the bed, staring at Harry with unreadable eyes, lips parted as he took in everything, the furrowed curves of dark eyebrows above tightly squeezed eyelids, pale cheeks he now completely remembered being tinged with a light blush more often than not whenever they were alone, the beautiful column of Harry’s neck and the jugular vein Peter _loved_ to leave a mark on.

His gaze trailed down strong shoulders to hands which could bring such pleasure Peter couldn’t imagine in his wildest dreams, to lightly rounded hips which carried Peter’s marks so many times in the past and thighs which cradled his in countless occasions.

He looked up at Harry’s face, gaze settling on the pair of perfect lips which he had kissed for the first time so suddenly and had never grown tired of kissing, of feeling their softness on his skin, of listening words rolling past them, of hearing gasps and mewls leaving them in throes of passion.

This, _all_ of this, was taken from him.

“Found some,” Stiles blurted out as he ran into the room and over to Melissa, handing her a pair of scissors. She took a deep breath, trying to still her trembling hands, starting on cutting Harry’s shirt open.

“What the…” Stiles breathed out as Harry’s torso was revealed to them, no trace of the round scar on his stomach, or on his right shoulder. Melissa exchanged a glance with Derek who looked just as stunned as she did, and she slowly cut through the bandages around Harry’s waist pushing them to the sides and revealing that the wounds made by Derek’s claws were gone as well.

“Stiles?” Deaton called out, announcing his arrival, his voice startling them and making them tense up.

“Upstairs! Last door to the left!” the human teen called out and they listened to Deaton’s heavy footsteps rushing towards them until the man appeared in the doorway.

“What happened?” Deaton asked, already in work mode as he hurried to the bed, leaving his bag at the foot of it and quickly rolling his sleeves up while Melissa moved off of the bed.

“We have no idea,” Melissa said, exchanging a glance with Derek.

“I found him on the Nemeton,” Derek spoke up and Deaton stilled, looking at Derek with wide eyes before he looked back at Harry. “His scars are all gone. He’s completely healed.”

“And he doesn’t smell of pain anymore.” Every head in the room turned to Peter when he said that, but the oldest werewolf in the pack paid them no heed, obviously too taken by the wizard lying unconscious on the bed.

“Peter?” The older werewolf looked at his nephew, finding Derek observing him warily.

“I remember,” Peter pressed out tightly, swallowing audibly as he looked at Harry. “Scott unlocked my memories.”

“What?”

“And you’re not-”

John and Stiles spoke at the same time with Peter interrupting them both by chuckling darkly. His eyes flickered in their direction and the Stilinski men stiffened. While Peter looked relatively calm on the outside it was his eyes that told of something different.

“Bat-shit crazy with anger?” he drawled looking back at the prone figure before him. The weight of the memories on his mind was indescribable. It felt heavy -- his thoughts -- everything still jumbled but he _remembered_. “Oh yes I am, _believe_ me. I want to know what the hell is going on.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t answer that,” Deaton spoke up and everyone looked at him, finding the Emissary flashing light into Harry’s eyes before allowing them to close again while the druid moved back with a sigh. “I have no idea what happened to him except the obvious.” He waved his right hand over Harry, pointing out the mysterious lack of scars.

“Why isn’t he waking up?” Derek asked, frowning at the Emissary, and Deaton took a deep breath, shaking his head.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, ignoring the low growl which rumbled in Peter’s chest followed by Scott and Derek tensing up and John taking a step in front of Stiles while Melissa moved to stand behind her son. “It doesn’t seem as though he’s sleeping or in a coma.”

“Should I call the hospital?” Melissa asked.

“No,” Deaton shook his head and got off the bed. “The best thing to do now is to observe him for at least twenty-four hours. If he doesn’t wake up within that time period, or if his condition in any way worsens, then we’ll have to think of something, but we can’t take him to the hospital.”

“Maybe we should check out the Nemeton,” Stiles spoke up and everyone turned to him. “Harry said that its power is summoning creatures to it. Maybe something-”

“I haven’t smelled anyone there except Harry,” Derek interrupted Stiles, nipping that thought in the bud.

“Then the only thing we can do is wait for Harry to wake up,” John said, brushing his right hand through his hair with a tired sigh. “God, can there be a _single_ _night_ in Beacon Hills without _something_ unnatural happening?” he groaned, receiving only grunts of agreement in answer.

“Wait,” Peter spoke up and everyone looked at him finding the werewolf glaring at them, anger darkening his eyes. “This is it? We’re just going to _wait for him to wake up?”_ he snapped, eyes turning electric-blue as a threatening growl laced his words.

“Calm down,” Derek spoke up, taking a step towards Peter who turned to look at him, a low growl rumbling in Peter’s chest as a clear warning. “Peter, you’re not thinking straight. You’ve just gotten your memories unlocked and I know – _believe_ me, I know how confusing everything is right now, so just _calm down_ and _think_.”

Strained silence settled over the room as Peter and Derek locked in a stare-down, broken only by the sound of Peter’s heavy breathing.

“We won’t get anywhere if we lose it,” Scott spoke up, taking a small step towards the other two werewolves and Derek nodded in agreement, glancing at the young alpha as Scott came to stand to Derek’s left before looking at Peter. “Whatever the Nemeton did to Harry, we’ll figure it out.”

“Along with Kate, whatever she did to Derek, and what to do with the inevitable arrival of god knows what with hunters on their tail,” Stiles grumbled rubbing his face with his hands before he sighed and hit his thighs with them. “We’re royally _fucked_.” The human teen crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Harry’s still form, eyebrows narrowing as he tried to figure out what happened to the wizard.

“Right now we need to change his clothes and warm him up,” Melissa spoke up to break the tension, moving forward and glancing at everyone. “His temperature is below normal, and until he wakes up someone will always have to be here.”

“I’ll do it,” Stiles, Derek and Peter spoke at the same time, the three immediately exchanging glances with Stiles actually _glaring_ at Peter for whatever reason and making the oldest werewolf among them growl.

“If you think for a _second_ that I will do anything to him, I think we’re going to have a problem,” Peter pressed out through clenched teeth. “He’s my _mate_ -”

“Peter,” Derek spoke up again and Peter looked at him, his nose wrinkling at the warning gaze aimed at him by his nephew, remembering the talk they had that made both of them run out of Derek’s apartment.

Peter looked at Stiles, finding the teen staring at Derek in slight surprise, but looking away the moment Derek glanced at him.

“We can do it in shifts,” Derek suggested calmly, “besides, as Stiles pointed out, we don’t have only Harry to worry about.”

“We’ll need to keep track of all new arrivals in town,” John agreed with Derek and Stiles looked at his dad, nodding in agreement. “I’ll see what I can do about that.”

“And we need to continue our research on Tezcatlipoca,” Stiles added. “I’ll call Lydia in the morning and ask her if she found something.”

“And I’ll call Kira to see if her parents found anything,” Scott spoke up. “With any luck we might solve at least _one_ of our mysteries soon.”

“So who’ll take first watch?” Stiles asked and looked around.

“I have to be at the Station in…” John sighed as he looked at his wristwatch, “ _god_ , less than three hours.”

“I’m working the afternoon shift,” Melissa offered.

“I open in the morning as well,” Deaton sighed, shoulders dipping for a second before straightening once more.

“I have to do some last minute homework, but I can do it here,” Scott said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“And I actually got some sleep before Derek came around,” Stiles said, and clapped his hands, the sound echoing through the room, everyone immediately looking at Harry only to feel a spark of disappointment when the wizard showed no signs of waking up. “I’ll take the first shift,” Stiles muttered and looked at Scott, Derek and Peter. “Scott, you should go home as well,” the human teen crossed his arms over his chest before raising his right hand and pointing his index finger at Peter and Derek respectively, “and _you_ two should get some sleep.”

“One of you can take my room,” John offered, gifting everyone with a small, tired smile. “I might as well go earlier to the station since I’m awake. I’ll be able to get home sooner then.”

“Thank you,” Derek said and John nodded with a small, welcoming smile.

“And my bed’s free as well,” Stiles added, “so one of you can take it.” He glanced at Derek when he said that, no one missing it, and the teen’s eyes widened minutely when Derek gifted him with a small smile, no one paying any attention to Peter scoffing quietly.

“I’ll take the couch,” he grumbled, turning on his heel and leaving the room.

“I should make my way then,” Deaton spoke quietly gathering his things. “Call me if anything changes, alright?”

“Will do,” Scott said and with a minute nod aimed at the others, he escorted his mentor out of the room.

“We need to change Harry’s clothes,” Melissa spoke up moving for the bed, and John all but jumped in his place.

“I’ll help you,” John said and Melissa nodded, John immediately moving over to the drawers he saw Harry place his clothes in.

“I’ll go make some coffee,” Stiles muttered and left the room with Derek following close behind, sparing a glance towards Harry’s still form before taking a turn down the hallway.

He followed Stiles quietly into the kitchen, hearing Scott go back up the stairs, passing beside them without noticing them. Derek stood in the doorway, watching Stiles moving around the kitchen, and a small frown marred Derek’s features when he noticed the minute trembling of Stiles’ hands, the hunched shoulders and pale skin.

“Stiles, maybe you should leave the first shift to me,” Derek spoke up, startling Stiles, and the sound of a cup breaking on the floor echoed through the house.

“Shit,” Stiles blurted out, immediately kneeling beside the broken pieces and starting to gather the big ones, only to prick his finger in his haste. “Damn it!” he pressed out through his teeth, sucking his right index finger into his mouth.

Derek pressed his teeth tightly together and moved over to crouch beside Stiles, taking the teen’s arms in a gentle hold and making him look at the werewolf with a small confused frown.

“Come on,” Derek murmured, leading Stiles over to one of the kitchen chairs and making him take a seat. Without another word, Derek did quick work of gathering the broken pieces of the cup before he started the coffee-machine taking two clean cups from the drying rack beside the sink.

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled and Derek turned around to look at the teen, finding him with his hands clasped between his thighs and legs hopping. Derek placed the cups on the counter before he walked over to Stiles, pulling another chair closer to the teen and taking a seat beside him.

“Stiles…”

“I don’t think I can do this,” Stiles choked out, and Derek suddenly had a small realization that Stiles seemed to have spoken his thoughts without really knowing that he had done so aloud. “I _can’t_ do this-”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted the teen firmly, placing his right hand on Stiles’ left knee, effectively making Stiles’ legs stop hopping, and the younger man looked at Derek with wide eyes, lips pursed just a bit and holding his breath. “Stiles, I’ll take the first shift,” Derek spoke warmly, watching as Stiles’ eyebrows narrowed. “You need to get some rest. A lot of things happened in the past few days, and if I know you at _all_ , I know you’ve been doing research like mad and that you haven’t been sleeping.”

“You need to-”

“I’m a werewolf, Stiles,” Derek spoke up again. “I can go a little longer without sleep than you can. And you’re starting school again on Monday. You can’t fall asleep during classes.”

“We need to work on this together, Derek,” Stiles answered and Derek took a deep breath, holding it for a moment.

“Yes, we do,” he said, breathing out. “But we won’t get anywhere if half of us end up in bed because we weren’t taking proper care of ourselves.”

“That sounds quite strange coming from you,” Stiles murmured quietly, ducking his head, his gaze landing on Derek’s hand which still rested on Stiles’ knee, big and warm.

“Harry was right about a lot of things he told me in the past few days,” Derek said and Stiles looked at him again, eyes the color of late autumn leaves - of warm embers in fireplaces breathing with comfort - looked at Derek with so many questions the werewolf couldn’t start _listing_ all of them let alone answering them. “We need to be careful, and we need to work together.”

“And we need to be strong,” Stiles breathed out before laughing weakly and shaking his head making Derek frown in confusion. “Just how much stronger do we need to be?”

“Stiles, I don’t believe that you could be any stronger than you already are.”

Stiles’ eyes widened and he looked at Derek in shock, mostly because he had just realized that it was _Derek_ that was right there beside him, telling him that he was strong, that it was _Derek_ who was still holding on to Stiles' knee without making it seem awkward _at all_ , that it was _Derek_ looking at him with darkened eyes urging him to believe his words.

“What you lived through with the Nogitsune – it would have made many people _break_ ,” Derek spoke warmly, each word dripping with honesty, and Stiles swallowed thickly unable to tear his eyes away from Derek’s. “And yet you’re still walking. You’re still smiling. You’re still running around helping people.”

The teen’s eyes grew almost impossibly wide when Derek raised his right hand and caressed Stiles’ spotted cheek with the back of his fingers, a small smile tilting his lips.

“You’re stronger than you think, and you’ve always been strong, and I have no doubt that you’ll only grow stronger,” Derek murmured, eyes filling with warmth, and Stiles didn’t even realize that he was holding his breath. “We’ll get through this. I promise,” Derek whispered passionately and Stiles’ lips quivered, eyes turning suspiciously glassy.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Derek,” he spoke in a hoarse voice, trying to force a smile on his lips, while Derek’s tilted up almost effortlessly as he gave Stiles’ knee a reassuring squeeze.

“We _will_ make it through this,” Derek repeated his words, and Stiles’ heart constricted at the certainty in Derek’s voice. “I _swear_.”

**cut**

**Wow…**

**I’m just gonna stop this here. This chapter has turned out longer than I intended.**

**There you have it though!! Peter finally remembers who Harry is!**

**What will happen next?**

**The voting is still on the run, but please don’t vote if you already had!!**

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**Hope to hear from you soon!!**

**Tell me if you liked the chapter!!**


	12. Sacrifice

**Trigger warning: this chapter contains mention of rape, serial murder and torture, and while it is in no way described, I don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable reading this chapter.**

**cut**

**Thank you for reviewing and commenting on this story, people. Sometimes it’s hard to find the will to write, but all I need is to go back to your reviews and I find the push I need to keep going.**

**I want to thank every single one of you, especially those of you who review every new chapter, who share your thoughts on what is going on in the story with me, and tell me how it makes you feel.**

**I think the biggest achievement a writer can reach is when they make the reader feel what the characters are feeling, and I really _do_ hope that I’m making that happen for you.**

**Anyway, the voting is still going on, so please don’t vote if you already did.**

**I hope you’re having a nice day, and if you don’t I hope I make your day at least somewhat better by posting this new chapter.**

**All my love,  
Ms. Yuki **

**PS. I’ll be changing my Penname into Ms. Yuki come first of February, so I’m warning you in advance so you don’t get confused.**

**cut**

_There's a hunger, it's slowly growing._   
_Chasing shadows but never knowing_   
_If all that I have done_   
_Is keeping me from you._   
_Then can the arms of mercy bring the rescue_   
_To return to you...?_

_\- Trading Yesterday, 'For You Only'_

**cut**

Stiles swallowed thickly as he stared at the still form of one Harry Potter. It’s been a little over twelve hours since Derek brought Harry from the forest, and as of yet the only change they have noticed in Harry was that color had slowly returned to his skin. At least he looked somewhat healthy now that he had started to breathe normally, and that he seems to actually _sleep_.

But he had yet to show any signs of waking.

Stiles had long given up on doing any research as he watched over Harry. His attention was weak at best, but sitting beside the still man, his eyes would stray towards Harry more times than he would actually get anywhere with reading, so he laid the books to rest and settled on watching the wizard, everything that had happened in the past ten days running through Stiles’ mind.

Every word was analyzed, every move, every glance, every single _moment_ he had spent with Harry ran through his mind as Stiles struggled to figure the man out in hope of finding a single _instance_ pointing towards this happening. So far he had nothing.

Nothing made sense. The only thing he could think of was that the Nemeton somehow attracted Harry to itself, but Harry hadn’t shown any signs of strange behavior… _well_ , it’s not like Stiles knew Harry all that well.

But the man had shown nothing but honesty ever since Stiles first saw him at the station. He was honest about himself, having no qualms to admit to everything he was forced to do. He had probably saved all of their lives by going with them to Mexico, and had used magic _quite_ excessively even though he was not supposed to if his conversation with Agent McAvoy and his own admission was anything to go by.   

Stiles just couldn’t let go of what he and Harry talked about when he was left alone with the wizard at the hospital, all of it cumulating in the talk he had with Derek earlier that day.

That memory put a blush on Stiles’ face, and for a moment he lost his breath.

Derek has changed. He has come a long way from the man he was over a year ago. Derek has finally made peace with everything that happened to him. He was calmer, more open, and what hit Stiles most, was that Derek could actually _smile_ , his eyes glowing with warmth and acceptance.

But it was all also very confusing to Stiles. Sure, he and Derek had come to an agreement when they worked together to solve the mystery of the Alpha Pack, and their relationship _had_ grown closer, but they had never talked like they did that morning.

In one moment, Stiles realized that he was so close to Derek that he could actually _see_ specks of dusty gold in those eyes that were predominantly light green, and yet sometimes seemed to be such a light brown, other times looking like the stormy sea or the rage-full sky.

He could see the small, hardly visible flecks on Derek’s nose, and for a moment – for a brief moment which was interrupted by Scott much too soon – Stiles thought that Derek might actually kiss him.

And that brought with it a whole new set of problems.

Ever since Stiles all but _ran_ out of the kitchen after seeing Scott and Melissa out, he had hidden himself in Harry’s room, thinking about it over and over and over again, the conversation he had with his dad running through his mind.

He had firmly made himself believe that Derek was neither bi nor gay, but _when_? When did he convince himself of that? But the moment he thought of that, he had remembered that werewolves find their mates by their scent and that killed every single hope Stiles allowed to spark to life. He was not eighteen yet. There was no chance that Derek’s wolf scented him out.

But what was Derek’s deal then? His hand hadn’t moved off of Stiles’ knee until both of them jumped to their feet when Scott cleared his throat, standing in the doorway of the kitchen as though he had just run into his parents kissing, uncomfortable as though he had interrupted something both beautiful and embarrassing.

Stiles’ knee still burned from Derek’s touch, his cheek still tingled with warmth from when Derek caressed it with gentleness Stiles didn’t know Derek possessed.

And the way Derek looked at him…

It made Stiles feel as though Derek truly _believed_ what he had told Stiles. That he truly considered Stiles strong. Stiles could see _trust_ in Derek’s eyes, and something else, something the teen couldn’t – or _wouldn’t_ name out of fear of coming to the wrong conclusion.

“You are sure thinking hard.” The teen jumped out of his seat, unconsciously positioning himself between the bed and the doorway only to halt, eyes widening, when he saw Peter standing there with hands raised and lips tilted in a small smirk. “I mean no harm,” drawled the werewolf dryly and Stiles swallowed audibly, taking a small step back before he glanced over his right shoulder at Harry, breathing out a sharp gust of air when he saw that the wizard’s condition hasn’t changed.

“Damn it,” Stiles muttered and turned his back on Peter, crossing his arms over his chest, aware that Peter had walked into the room and now stood maybe a meter to Stiles’ right.

“There are no changes?” Peter asked and Stiles looked at the werewolf, noticing _something_ in Peter’s voice he wasn’t used to hearing, something akin to worry and sadness concealed behind poorly performed indifference and deeply felt confusion and anger.

“None except the obvious ones,” Stiles answered somewhat tightly, shifting his weight from his left foot to his right as he bit into his bottom lip, nibbling on the rosy petal and slowly sinking into deep thought again without really realizing it.

“Did you get any sleep at all?” Stiles looked at Peter with wide eyes, taken aback by the question, and found the werewolf looking at him with a dull stare, icy gray eyes swirling with shadows.

“No,” Stiles answered honestly and looked at Harry again, “couldn’t sleep.” Peter sighed and shook his head, tucking his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“You’re of no use to us half _dead_ , Stiles,” Peter drawled, tone laced with frustration and Stiles frowned at him, waiting to see what Peter would say next. “Even _Derek_ is getting some rest. You should go to sleep. I’ll watch over Harry.”

“Like I would leave you alone with him,” Stiles bit out, hands fisting by his sides, and Peter looked at him in obvious anger.

“And what do you suppose I would do to him?” Peter pressed out through his teeth, eyes turning electric-blue for less than a second. “He is my _mate_ , and I have my memories back…”

“Oh, and you’ve proved to be so _great_ at taking care of your family, haven’t you?” Stiles interrupted him spitefully, surprised when Peter appeared to actually be taken aback by those words, staring in Stiles’ eyes for a long moment, and Stiles – for no obvious reason – suddenly felt _bad_ for saying that.

“I never said I’m a good guy,” Peter muttered, lips hardly parting as he spoke, turning to look at the sleeping form of the wizard he now remembered - _acknowledged_ – as mate. “I did things that were in no way good because I was driven insane by everything that happened.”

Stiles swallowed audibly and ducked his head, _knowing_ that what Peter said was true and that – while that will never excuse Peter murdering his own niece for power – there was no saying what _Stiles_ would do in Peter’s place.

He just couldn’t make himself trust the werewolf, and who could blame him?

 _But_ – he guessed – Peter _had_ been there whenever they really needed him, and he didn’t appear _half_ as crazy as he was when all this horror started. As a matter of fact, each time Stiles would run into Peter for whatever reason, it seemed as though Peter’s sanity was returning piece by piece.

“Stiles?” the teen looked at Peter and found the werewolf staring at him with an unreadable gaze. “You’ve talked most with Harry,” the werewolf stopped to force down a heavy swallow before continuing, “What happened to him?”

The teen gazed in Peter’s eyes for a long moment, trying to find something, _anything_ that would tell him _not_ to share what he knew with Peter. For some reason Scott decided to give Peter his memories back, and through it all, Peter seemed to come out normal.

Or as normal as anything could be in this god forsaken town.

“He was taken,” just as Peter thought he wouldn’t get an answer, Stiles started talking, and Peter stared at the teen with absolute attention paid to every word rolling off of full, lush lips, “he was forced to kill and torture, he _was_ tortured.”

Stiles’ mouth went dry as he spoke, blinking rapidly a few times as his head tilted to the side, eyes going dull as he stared at Harry as though he was taking the man in, cutting the sleeping presence into his memory.

“He was alone and he suffered things no one should, fighting a battle that wasn’t his.” Stiles licked dry lips and looked at Peter, and the werewolf felt as though a clawed hand gripped his heart. “He was lied to that the people he was forced to leave behind were alright, and when he found out – when he was told that the Hale family was gone – he went insane.”

Peter paled at the implication of Stiles’ words, remembering how insane _he_ went when he woke up with Harry gone, how he rushed out of the apartment with only one thing in mind. Find Harry and kill the bastards who took him.

He remembered how he looked _everywhere_ trying to find a _whiff_ of Harry’s overwhelming, beautiful scent, how he surrendered to insanity more and more with each passing moment, unable to locate his mate. And then that insanity was taken from him together with the memory of Harry by his sister to save him from losing himself, to save _her_ from losing her beloved brother and her children from losing their loving, caring uncle.

Unfortunately, things didn’t go the way she planned, because while Peter _did_ get better after forgetting his mate, his wolf remembered the scent of Harry. His wolf remembered having the only one that could ever make them truly happy, and Peter changed. Something in him broke with Harry’s disappearance, and it could not be healed by erasing what they had from his memory.

“Harry couldn’t return to Beacon Hills because they placed something called a Containment Collar on him. He didn’t tell us much about it-”

“It’s a collar that suppresses a wizard’s magic, binds it within his body and allows the ones who put it on him complete control over how much magic he can use and exactly _what_ to use it for,” Peter spoke dully, cutting Stiles off, and the teen nodded, thinking that Harry must have told Peter about Containment Collars sometime during their relationship. “It also makes it impossible for the one carrying the collar to leave unless told to, and if they stray from the designated path the collar will grow tighter and tighter the further they stray.”

It was Stiles’ turn to pale because he remembered how Harry told them about Sam saving him and taking him to a rented apartment. “Does it also tell the location of the one wearing it?”

“Yes,” Peter answered and Stiles took a deep breath. “How did he get free of it?” the werewolf asked as Stiles breathed out, shrugging minutely and shifting his weight.

“Like I said,” he spoke in a slightly raspy voice, “he went insane. His magic burst out of him and he freed himself. He didn’t go into detail with what happened. One can only assume.”

Heavy silence settled between them as Stiles observed Peter and the werewolf watched Harry. Stiles couldn’t define the way Peter gazed upon the wizard. He couldn’t name the shadows swirling in Peter’s eyes. He couldn’t pin a definition to the hunch of Peter’s shoulder, to the down-turn of Peter’s lips, to the line between Peter’s lightly narrowed eyebrows.

“Go to sleep, Stiles,” Peter spoke in a voice Stiles thought he would never hear from him, a tone of utter resignation and regret that made Stiles’ heartbeat stutter. “I’ll watch over him.”

A voice in the back of Stiles’ head wanted to argue; a voice that was steadily growing more silent the longer he observed Peter. When Peter looked at Stiles, lips tilted in a small, dry smile, the voice went completely silent, and Stiles actually thought that he was looking at the _real_ Peter – the man he was before life took everything from him, starting from his mate and then his family.

“You look ready to fall asleep where you’re standing,” Peter commented and slowly walked around Stiles and to the chair earlier occupied by the teen, taking a seat with a quiet sigh before he crossed his legs and arms and looked at Stiles who stood apparently rooted to his place. “Go.”

Not knowing what to say and feeling tiredness showing its head, Stiles nodded minutely and walked out of the room, lingering in the doorway and casting one last glance in Harry’s direction, sending a silent prayer his way to wake up soon.

The moment the door closed behind Stiles, Peter looked at Harry, eyebrows narrowing. He lowered his leg and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and entwining his fingers. He concentrated on the steady beating of Harry’s heart, observing the slow rise and fall of Harry’s chest, the slight fluttering under closed eyelids and long, black lashes resting on pale cheeks.

A memory flashed through Peter’s mind, a flicker of the first time he woke up beside Harry, observing the man as he slept. His skin shone like liquid gold caressed by early morning sun, kiss-swollen lips parted, and raven strands, slightly longer than they are now fanning over the white pillow in sharp contrast, surrounding Harry’s head like a dark halo.

Harry was beautiful then, and he is beautiful now, although Peter couldn’t and _wouldn’t_ ignore the subtle changes he could see now that his memory was fresh, changes _impossible_ to miss. Harry’s chin seemed to be sharper, a dusting of a stubble already there, and he lost some of the lithe build he then possessed, whole body sinewed with hard muscles, telling of hours of hard exercise.

Even in sleep Harry was frowning, a suffering line between his eyebrows, and the corners of his lips were slightly down-turned, telling Peter that the wizard couldn’t find rest from the horrors of the past ten years even in this sleep induced by heavens know what.

Peter stood up slowly and took a seat on the bed to Harry’s right perfectly aware of what he was doing. He raised his right hand and gently caressed one lightly stubbled cheek with the back of his fingers, a small smirk tilting his lips when Harry’s breath hitched, the wizard moving towards Peter’s warmth.

Harry was still colder than was normal, especially since Peter remembered him being warmer than humans, but not as warm as werewolves. He remembered as well the feel of Harry’s magic coursing like a calm current sending shivers up Peter’s spine whenever he would touch Harry’s bare skin.

Now that was not only _slightly_ confusing. Peter remembered the feel of Harry’s magic when he touched him for the first time a few days back. It was sluggish and heavy, like it was working overtime and draining before it could gather again. The feel of it _now_ was different. It felt like Harry’s skin would _burst_ with magic circulating through his body. It was wild and uncontained, pulsating with every beat of Harry’s heart.

Peter looked at Harry’s face, tracing the sharp line of his chin with a tender touch, the tips of his fingers trailing down Harry’s neck and stopping at the hollow before he wrapped it around the pale column.

With his eyes slipping closed Peter bowed forward, his hand slipping around Harry’s neck to cup the nape as he rested his forehead on Harry’s taking a deep breath, his fingers tangling in the short hairs, familiar warmth spreading over Peter for the first time in years.

Harry smelled of thunderstorms and harsh winds, so unlike the scent Peter remembered and yet still so _utterly Harry_. His heart clenched in his chest as he breathed out, raising his head and opening his eyes to look at the face of his mate, urging those perfect emeralds to open so that Peter could finally look into them now that he had his memories back, wanting nothing more than to see just how much of the man he had once loved remained after whatever he had lived through.

But his prayers weren’t answered, and Harry remained still, giving no sign that he would ever wake up.

Gaze landing on the pair of lips he remembered being soft and succulent, Peter’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and his breathing became strained, the wolf howling in the back of his head. His hands slipped from under Harry’s neck to settle right over the wizard’s heart. He let go of a wavering breath as he moved closer, his lips a hair away from Harry’s, not breathing at all anymore, and his eyes slipped closed as he erased what distance still remained with a light, soul-searing kiss.

A pulse of something incredible surged through Peter’s body, igniting every single nerve, warmth settling in the pit of his stomach, and he all but jumped back, breathing as though he ran a marathon, looking at his hands which were trembling as though he had just been struck by lightning. He looked at Harry, eyes wide with hope, only to sag and fall back into the chair when no change was evident.

“Damn it…” Peter cursed weakly, bracing his elbows on his knees and hiding his face in trembling hands before bowing lower, hands fisting in his hair. “Damn it all to hell…”

**cut**

Stiles entered his room, closing the door on his way in, only to halt mid-step when his gaze settled on a sight most peculiar, although it made Stiles’ heartbeat stutter with sparks of excitement. Derek was sleeping in Stiles’ bed, back facing the door, and the werewolf’s right arm was folded under his head and face buried in one wrinkled corner. Derek hadn’t bothered to take his trousers and t-shirt off, his jacket and shoes lying forgotten at the foot of the bed, and Stiles was certain that this is the most relaxed he had ever seen Derek.

He approached the bed, walking as quietly as he could, trying as hard as possible to not make a sound that would awaken Derek. He stopped beside the bed and slowly took a seat, observing the werewolf as he slept. As much as Stiles could see of Derek’s face, it was relaxed, making Derek look years younger, lips parted as he breathed deeply, massive shoulders rising and falling steadily.

Warmth was rolling off of Derek in waves, Stiles feeling it now that he was practically touching the werewolf, and for a brief moment Stiles thought how it would be if Derek was hugging _him_ and not the pillow.

Hardly aware of his actions, Stiles reached up with his left hand, brushing the black tresses away from Derek’s forehead and a small, content sigh passed Derek’s lips as he shifted slightly, moving his head back a bit before he curled up a bit more, resting his cheek on the pillow which he hugged closer.

“’Tiles…” left Derek’s lips in a breathy whisper and the teen choked up, his heartbeat quickening as a blush covered his cheeks, and he was on his feet in a second, rubbing his hands against his thighs nervously and looking around as though he was expecting someone to jump out of the few shadowy corners of the room.

When nothing came Stiles let go of a long breath of air, fisting his hands by his sides before he glanced at the door. He _really_ needed to get some sleep, and while sliding into his bed behind Derek _sounded_ like a beautiful idea – and that exceptional warmth was more than just inviting – Stiles wanted to keep his head attached to his neck, _thankyouverymuch._

And that meant sleeping either in his dad’s room or in the living room.

 _‘Dad’s bed it is,’_ Stiles thought and made his way out of his bedroom, but like always, there appeared a glitch in his plans. Just as he opened the door, his spatial awareness – or _lack_ thereof – came into play and he hit his right shoulder in the door, unable to stop the pretty _loud_ gasp that escaped him before he managed to snap his left hand over his lips.

“Stiles?” the teen turned on his heel, eyes wide as he looked at Derek, and his heart and stomach did a strange little twist when his eyes met lake-green orbs, darkened with sleep and unfocused, lips slightly pursed in a small, absolutely adorable pout.

“He – hey there, Derek!” he stuttered out, trying to act as though he had just entered the room. “Didn’t know you were sleeping here!” his heartbeat stuttered, betraying him quite skillfully, and Stiles _hoped_ Derek was too sleepy and disoriented to actually pay any attention to it.

“John came home earlier so I took your bed while you kept watch over Harry,” slurred the werewolf as he slowly sat up, and Stiles could have _whined_ at the absolute adorableness of the sleepy werewolf.

If he wasn’t afraid of Derek biting his head off for it, that is.

“Yeah,” Stiles’ voice broke, and he cleared his throat, hopping in his place nervously and looking anywhere but at Derek. “Peter just took over,” he said and Derek squinted at him before he licked his lips and swallowed.

“You can go to sleep now,” he mumbled as he slowly stood up, rubbing his stomach with his right hand, his crumpled t-shirt rising up _just enough_ for Stiles to catch sight of pale skin and the trail of dark hair leading beneath the waistband of Derek’s pants, and one lightly jutting hip-bone. “I’ll just make some coffee and call Scott to see what he and the girls have been up to. He sent a message earlier that they’ve gathered at Kira’s place to do some research together.”

“Sure,” Stiles choked out, mouth watering as he found himself unable to look away from the place where Derek’s shirt _still_ refused to fall back into proper place. “Sure, I-”

“Stiles?” the teen looked up – _finally_ – his gaze meeting Derek’s, and all of a sudden his mouth went dry as he was faced with an intense stare, sleep-darkened green orbs looking at him with unnamed things taking his breath away.

Stiles wasn’t even aware of the fact that he had closed the door or that he had taken a step towards Derek who in turn moved closer to the teen, tilting his head to the right like a wolf appraising his pray.

“What is it?” Derek asked in a quiet murmur, standing just a breath away from Stiles, the slight height difference between them making Stiles tilt his head back to keep looking in those beautiful, soul-searing eyes.

The height difference wasn’t usually noticeable, but standing this close to Derek, Stiles couldn’t help but notice all the different things about them, from the strength of Derek’s shoulders and the broadness of his chest offering quiet assurance that being enveloped by that body would no doubt give amazing warmth and absolute feeling of safety.

The strength of Derek’s muscled arms -- strength Stiles witnessed just a few days back when Derek seemingly _effortlessly_ killed a Berserker -- promised protection, and the warmth of Derek’s body enveloping Stiles like a shield of fire brought forth repressed fantasies of curling closer to that perfect body and feeling it envelop him completely, skin against skin, and Derek’s warm breath fanning over Stiles’ neck and shoulders, neither talking but both knowing the other was _there_.

Stiles’ thoughts came to a sharp stop when a big, scorchingly warm hand cupped his dotted cheek, the scent of Derek overwhelming his senses as his eyes widened in shock staring in those amazing, absolutely unique eyes looking at him with things Stiles until now only _imagined_ would be directed at him.

He couldn’t form a single coherent thought as Derek moved even closer, ducking his head to trace Stiles’ nose with the tip of his own, taking in a wavering breath, and air hitched in the teen’s throat when Derek’s left hand took a gentle hold of Stiles’ hip, pulling him flat against that strong form and making his knees go week.

“Derek…” Stiles gasped, hands darting up to fist on Derek’s broad shoulders, and he blinked rapidly, struggling to breathe, the scent of leather, of pines, and grass, and _him_ over something that was distinguishingly _Derek_ yet impossible to name invading his senses, cutting itself into his memory and engraving itself into Stiles’ soul.

“I’m so sorry, Stiles,” Derek murmured, resting his forehead on Stiles’ and the teen’s lips parted as he stared at Derek in confusion, this whole situation so _surreal_ that Stiles just couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

Everything that happened in the past few months weighed heavily down on Stiles, making it impossible for him to be his normal self in face of this situation, with Derek acting completely out of character… or was he?

Stiles has been trying to convince himself of so many things: that Derek would never look at him the way he was now, that Derek wasn’t bi, let alone gay, that Derek had a mate somewhere out there, and that Stiles would never be to Derek what the teen _yearned_ to be to the werewolf.

And yet the way Derek was looking at him now, eyebrows raised, eyes full of quiet hope and countless apologies, hesitant and yet struggling to show what he truly felt, trampling on every single thought Stiles has had about the two of them, stomping on his insecurities and whispering of such sweet promises that it made Stiles’ mind go quiet for the first time in his life.

“What are you sorry about?” the teen’s lips hardly parted as he spoke that, only Derek’s werewolf hearing making it possible to discern the muttered words.

“I’m sorry for everything you had to live through,” Derek answered, caressing Stiles’ cheek with his thumb as his left hand fisted in Stiles’ shirt, holding the teen as close as possible, only their clothes serving as barrier between heated bodies. “I’m sorry you had to suffer for the mistakes Scott and I made. I’m sorry for being a stubborn idiot. I’m sorry for – for not listening to you and for…”

Derek swallowed thickly, an agonized line appearing between his eyebrows as he licked his lips before pressing his teeth tightly together, and Stiles’ face went slack, his heartbeat picking up speed.

“You were there to help me countless times,” Derek pressed out, throat tight and voice hoarse, “even after I did my very best to scare you off, to get you as far away from this world as possible…”

“You were right,” Stiles choked out, unconsciously leaning into Derek’s touch as his eyes slid closed, not knowing what was going on, but Derek was _there_ and his strength was overwhelming, and his warmth did things to the teen he never experienced in his seventeen years of life one of which he spent struggling to stay alive. “I’m human, and humans have _nothing_ to look for…”

“No,” Derek cut Stiles off and the teen looked at him with an unreadable gaze, finding Derek’s lips tilted up in a hesitant smile. “Without you I wouldn’t be alive. Without you Scott wouldn’t be alive. Without you…” his lips parted and closed several times, the werewolf struggling to find the right words but sorely _lacking_.

Derek wasn’t much for talking. He was more for action, and yet he knew that this situation – his and Stiles’ relationship however defined it yet had to be – _needed_ for him to finally come clean. Otherwise both would be left with nothing but regrets.

“We – _none of us –_ would be here without you,” Derek finally pressed out. “And when you needed us most we weren’t fast enough to realize that. We weren’t fast enough to save you from experiencing something horrible-”

“Derek-”

“No,” the werewolf cupped Stiles’ face between both hands, caressing the teen’s soft cheeks with his thumbs, breathing in the human’s scent which Derek lacked words to describe. He only knew Stiles smelled of _mate_ , and that was enough for Derek, especially coupled with knowledge that Stiles _did_ feel something for him.

Scent never lied.

Heartbeat never lied.

And both were now telling Derek that Stiles _wanted_ him.

“Stiles, I…” and yet he couldn’t press those words past his lips. Those three simple words which he said so many times before he lost _everything_ , only for life to throw one betrayal after another at him until it left him broken and alone.

No… Not alone.

Stiles was always there. Even when he didn’t trust Derek, even when the werewolf did his damned _best_ to push Stiles away, the teen was always there. And Stiles paid for his loyalty. He paid for it by losing what little innocence remained from his childhood. His scent was that of a mature man, belying his years, and it broke Derek’s heart because he _knew_ that if only he never fell for Kate’s tricks his family would still be there, Peter never would have bitten Scott and Stiles never would have been possessed by the Nogitsune.

Stiles never would have been forced to fight for his life on so many occasions. He never would have tasted betrayal and loneliness and helplessness in the face of life-threatening danger. But there they were, after surviving everything life threw at them, both of them alive with so many unspoken things between them that the air felt _thick_ , weighing down upon them with promises of everything they could have if only they surrendered to the feelings growing within them.

Stiles stared in Derek’s eyes, hardly able to believe everything he was seeing in them. He couldn’t be wrong, could he? He couldn’t be wrong in interpreting the soul-searing warmth in those beautiful eyes, the comfort of Derek’s touch and closeness.

 _‘But,’_ his mind argued, _‘Derek has a mate. He has a mate somewhere out there, and you can’t be…’_ his thoughts came to a sharp stop as something tickled his memory, hope sparking to life in his heart. _‘Could I be?’_ he thought, hands slipping down to rest on Derek’s massive chest, the werewolf’s heart beating strongly and quickly under Stiles’ right hand, all but _screaming_ feelings Derek obviously couldn’t say.

 _‘But I’m not eighteen yet,’_ Stiles thought, knowing that werewolves couldn’t scent out their mates until they reached maturity. And then Stiles remembered something Deaton told him a while ago, when Stiles came over with Scott to keep the young alpha company while he and Deaton worked on Scott’s control.

 _‘Maturity is reached at eighteen years of age, yes’,_ Deaton spoke, ‘ _and it marks the time a child becomes an adult, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be so. Humans can grow up quickly if subjected to extreme situations.’_

“I’m your mate…” Stiles breathed out weakly, his heartbeat stuttering when a pained, hardly audible whine escaped Derek and the werewolf’s hands fisted in Stiles’ hair, keeping him close as he pressed their foreheads together, tightly closing his eyes.

Stiles grabbed fistfuls of Derek’s shirt, trying to wrap his mind around the idea – the _truth_ he stumbled upon, feeling the shiver which wrecked Derek’s body, Stiles’ own trembling in return as warmth settled in the pit of his stomach and his heart started beating so quickly it felt as though it would burst out of his chest.

“Derek?” he whispered and Derek opened his eyes as he moved back a bit, looking in Stiles’ dilated amber orbs as though the answer to all of life’s questions could be found there.

“I’m not…” Derek tried to speak, but words failed him again, and a breathless laugh left Stiles’ lips.

“What?” he asked, flattening his hands on Derek’s chest, “What aren’t you? Good? Strong?” the teen licked his lips, something twisting in his stomach when Derek’s gaze darted to follow the path of the teen’s tongue, and a shiver ran down Stiles’ back when a quiet growl vibrated beneath his hands. “Right for me? In love with…”

“No,” Derek cut him off, hands moving down to wrap around Stiles’ arms, holding him as though Derek would never let go, and for the first time in months, for the first time in so long, Stiles felt grounded.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Stiles felt _real_ , every single thought of the Nogitsune, of what he lived through suddenly seeming so small in comparison to _this,_ to being close to the man Stiles still didn’t and probably never _would_ know how he came to love.

“I’m…” Derek huffed and shook his head, and Stiles reacted quickly when it seemed as though Derek would move away, a spark of desperation surging through Stiles’ heart at the possibility of losing the werewolf’s warmth even for a _second_ , and he grabbed fistfuls of Derek’s shirt, flattening his lower body with Derek’s and looking deep into those eyes which flashed beta-gold for a moment.

“What?” Stiles breathed out, unable to look away from Derek’s darkened, dilated gaze. “What are you?”

“I’m…” Derek’s lips opened and closed several times, but not a moment later Stiles’ eyebrows met the line of his hair when Derek huffed and shook his head before looking at Stiles with such a tender gaze, one Stiles once thought Derek incapable of showing. “I _am_ in love with you.”

Stiles’ lips fell open as he stared at Derek, eyes wide, and every single though flew out of the teen’s head leaving him speechless. Derek laughed quietly, breathlessly and rubbed Stiles’ arms with big warm hands, tilting his head to the left as he cocked his eyebrows at the teen.

“Well, I’ll be damned…” he drawled quietly, although Stiles could see the slight worry showing in Derek’s eyes he was trying his damned best to hide behind amusement, “Stiles Stilinski is spe-”

In that moment Stiles moved forward sealing his lips over Derek’s, erasing what words remained on Derek’s tongue and mind, and the werewolf growled as he kissed back with just as much fervor, the wolf howling in the back of his mind.

Stiles fisted his hands in Derek’s hair, drawing him closer as they deepened the kiss, tongues meeting and teeth clacking, and Stiles yelped when strong hands grabbed his thighs, hoisted him up and his back met the wall behind him, a picture frame and a couple of papers meeting the floor.

Derek growled as Stiles hooked his thighs on the werewolf’s hips, and those nimble, dexterous fingers tangled in Derek’s hair while the werewolf pushed his hands under Stiles’ shirt, groaning at the feeling of soft, heated skin.

They parted, gasping for air, eyes dilated and cheeks rosy, and Stiles traced bearded cheeks with the tips of his fingers, letting go of a breathless, huffing laugh when he found out that it was indeed as soft as he thought it would be.

A small smile tiled Derek’s lips as he ducked his head, making Stiles wrap his arms around Derek’s shoulders while the werewolf buried his nose just under the teen’s left ear, breathing in Stiles’ unique scent.

“Your dad will kill me,” Derek murmured, warm breath fanning over the sensitive skin of Stiles’ neck, and Derek heard the teen’s heart beat just a bit quicker.

“No he won’t,” Stiles answered, voice slightly hoarse as he rested the side of his head against Derek’s, lightly scraping the werewolf’s neck with blunt nails. “I’ve already talked to him about my feelings for you. He figured something was going on with me when I calmed down after you touched my neck back at the hospital. He said he won’t have anything against me dating someone older as long as they’re not psychotic murderers.”

Derek hummed in answer, pressing an open-mouthed kiss on the juncture of Stiles’ shoulder and neck, smirking when the teen shivered and Derek felt Stiles’ member twitch against his own through layers of clothing, the teen’s scent spiking with arousal which did nothing to calm Derek’s wolf that was howling with joy at Stiles’ acceptance and returned feelings.

But Derek couldn’t act up on the urges clouding his brain. Not yet, at least.

“You need to get some rest,” he muttered moving back until Stiles’ legs fell from around Derek’s waist, feet meeting the ground, and Derek looked at the teen with a loving smile, immediately noticing the displeased pout on Stiles lush lips swollen from the kiss they shared.

“Not fair,” Stiles murmured, smirking at Derek who rolled his eyes and huffed, catching Stiles’ hands as they slipped from around Derek’s neck. “We were up to a good start there!”

“Stiles…” Derek warned fondly and the teen rolled his eyes, walking past Derek and over to his bed, toeing off his shoes before he spared a glance over his left shoulder at the werewolf standing in the middle of the room, observing Stiles with slight disbelief.

“What is it?” Stiles asked, turning around to face Derek who stood silent for a few long moments, before sighing and shaking his head.

“Nothing,” he answered with a small smile. “Get some rest.”

“What will you do?” Stiles asked before Derek even turned to get out of the room and the werewolf shrugged.

“Make some coffee and join Peter,” he said while Stiles moved closer to the werewolf. “Why?”

“Peter is with Harry,” Stiles said, stopping right in front of Derek, hands trembling as he slowly took the werewolf’s bigger hands in his and gently tugged him closer, smiling when Derek showed neither will nor need to resist him. “Give him time to think everything through.”

“You need to _rest_ , Stiles,” Derek stressed out although he followed Stiles to the bed, the teen climbing it backwards, lush lips tilted in a smirk as he sat on his legs, looking up at Derek with warmth swirling in amber orbs.

“No one says you need to get out of my room while I do,” Stiles answered, fiery orbs glimmering as he smirked mischievously, looking at Derek from under messy bangs. “And I promise I feel much better than my pillow.”

Derek let go of a short, huffing laugh and shook his head, knowing that he would never be able to deny Stiles anything reasonable. “Move over,” he muttered and Stiles grinned, the two moving around as they settled on the bed.

Derek hesitated for less than a moment before he wrapped his left arm around Stiles’ waist and pulled the teen closer, folding his right arm under his head while Stiles tucked the pillow under his.

The teen let go of a long, content sigh and Derek couldn’t stop himself from curling closer to the teen, burying his nose in the nape of Stiles’ neck and breathing in deeply, feeling the shiver which wrecked Stiles’ body when Derek pressed a lingering kiss on the soft skin.

“Sleep,” Derek murmured, hearing Stiles hum before he rested back against Derek, slowly relaxing into the strong body of the werewolf. Stiles was asleep within minutes, exhaustion finally claiming him, but Derek remained awake for a while more, his heart beating faster than normal.

Derek squeezed his eyes tightly shut, swallowing thickly as the wolf whined in the back of his head. He only hoped whatever Kate did to him wasn’t incurable. He finally had someone – _several_ people actually – he could trust not to betray him. He finally had a mate that wouldn’t hurt him intentionally and leave him.

Whatever Kate did to him, Derek hoped they would find the cure. For the first time in a long, long while, Derek wanted to _live._

And unfortunately, he didn’t know if he would.

**cut**

“So basically, we have nothing,” Scott mumbled feeling the glances Lydia, Kira and the kitsune’s parents threw in his direction.

“No, Scott,” Noshiko spoke warmly and Scott looked at her with a small confused frown, “we know what she did to Derek. _That_ is not nothing.”

“We know that we can’t save him,” Scott spoke through tightly pressed teeth, climbing to his feet and starting to pace. “And we _still_ don’t know how far this ritual will go!” he snapped. “As much as we know it could kill him!”

“And there is a chance that it won’t!” Lydia spoke up making Scott turn on his heel and look at her with eyes full of hope, asking her to give him a _speck_ of proof that her words were true. “Scott, we found out that Derek is being _purified_ and we don’t know what that _means_.”

“It’s turning him _human_ ,” Scott stressed out. “Derek will gradually lose his powers-”

“But that doesn’t mean that he will die,” Kira interrupted him before looking at her parents with wide, hope-filled eyes, “does it?”

Noshiko let go of a long breath as she looked at her husband, receiving a small shake of his head in return before he looked at his daughter, offering a small smile as comfort.

“We cannot know anything for certain,” Ken intoned voice heavy as he sighed and bowed his head. “This ritual was used only on humans in the past and they have all died. Maybe with Derek it will be different because he is a werewolf.”

“But we just said that he will eventually become _human_ ,” Scott reminded everyone.

“And that could make all the difference,” Noshiko said and Scott frowned in confusion, looking at Lydia when she gasped quietly, eyes wide.

“Lydia?” Scott spoke warily, taking a small step towards Lydia and Kira, the two young women sitting in the couch while Noshiko and Ken sat in the love-seat facing them, Scott having taken the armchair while they did research.

“ _Think_ , Scott,” Lydia spoke up, looking in Scott’s eyes. “Derek is being _purified_ ; he is having his sins _erased_ -”

“Which is why his eyes turned from blue to yellow,” Noshiko agreed with the banshee and Lydia nodded fervently.

“But that also means that he will slowly lose all of his powers,” Kira spoke up, glance darting from Scott to the others respectively before settling on the young alpha who returned to his armchair, taking a seat heavily, “his speed, his strength, his healing powers… He will become completely _human_.”

“But will it stop at that?” Scott asked weakly, looking at Kira’s parents imploringly.

“Unfortunately, we can’t know that,” Ken spoke quietly, unable to look at any of the teens.

“This is just great,” Scott muttered, brushing his hands through his hair before they fell into his lap and he sagged against the backrest, looking up at the ceiling, unable to look at the others anymore. “Harry’s in a coma for all we know, the Nemeton is summoning god knows _what_ to Beacon Hills and Kate is missing and probably planning to come back and kill us all.” He breathed out sharply and closed his eyes. “I don’t see how all of this could become any worse.”

“I just hope you didn’t jinx us with that,” Lydia muttered and Scott looked at her, swallowing thickly when he realized what he had said.

“We should all hope so.”

**cut**

“What the hell is going on?” Harry muttered into his chin as he looked around the darkness he was trapped it. He has been trying for Merlin knows how long to find a way out of there to no success.

Last thing he remembered was taking a run in the forest to try and get rid of some of his frustrations and worries and stumbling upon the Nemeton. He thought he heard voices and tried to follow them, but the moment he thought he was close the voices would disappear and he would find himself lost in the darkness again.

“You’re a demon, you know that, right?”

Harry spun on his heel when a raspy voice came from behind him only to lose his breath, eyes widening in shock. In front of him stood…

Well…

 _Himself_.

Or a version of him.

There was a self-satisfied, _evil_ smirk on his lips, emerald eyes were darkened with something menacing, and this other him stood tall, head tilted back and hands tucked in the pockets of black, skin-tight trousers. A long sleeved turtleneck hugged his torso, and his hair seemed a bit longer than he usually carried it.

And then Harry realized something.

He was looking at himself from ten years ago.

“Bingo!” sang the other Harry, making his guts twist. “But you’re not _completely_ right.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry murmured, taking a small step back, and his other self chuckled darkly, ducking his head a bit and looking at Harry from under messy bangs.

“I am what you made me,” he said and Harry frowned in confusion when his other self scoffed and shrugged, “well… what you made _us_?”

“I don’t…”

“You don’t understand,” the other Harry pressed out through clenched teeth. Instead of receiving an answer the space around him shifted, and Harry’s eyes widened when faces started to appear around him, faces that haunted his dreams, faces of every single man and woman he killed in the past ten years. “What are you…”

“You killed them, _Harry,_ ” his other self drawled, and the faces deformed, some carrying the horrifying expression left behind by the killing curse, others showing injuries Harry’s hand inflicted upon them, blood covering their faces. When Harry looked down, his heart stopped beating seeing his hands drenched in blood. “And do you know what the worst thing is?”

Harry looked at his other self, finding him smirking mockingly, bloodlust glimmering in emerald eyes which seemed to be black with dark glee.

“The worst thing is that you _enjoyed it,_ ” his other self disappeared suddenly only to reappear behind him, hands wrapped around Harry’s waist and lips leveled with his right ear. “You _enjoyed_ killing them, because they _deserved it._ ”

“No!” Harry snapped, tearing himself out of his other self’s hold and looking at him with a glare, ignoring the chuckle of amusement which rolled off of those lips twisted in an evil smirk. “I was forced to do it. I didn’t have a choice!”

“Oh, but you did,” his other self spoke airily, a horrifying, _insane_ grin tilting his lips. “You _had_ a choice. A choice was given to you the moment you were handed that _gun_ after your first mission.”

Harry’s breath hitched in his throat as he stared at his other self. _‘No,’_ he thought to himself, _‘I could have done nothing. Both my gun and knives were taken from me…’_

“I’m not talking about that, _Harry_ ,” his other self drawled spitefully, nose wrinkling in a hateful sneer. “You had a _choice_. You could have pointed that gun at yourself the moment you were out of the base, and you could have _finished it_.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he took a small step back. The faces in the darkness were looking at him accusingly with _hate_ shining in their dead eyes.  

“No,” Harry whispered, shaking his head before he looked at his other self with narrowed eyes, hands fisting by his sides. “I made a promise,” he pressed out through his teeth making his other self frown and straighten visibly recoiling. “I made a promise to come back to Beacon Hills. I would have – _could_ have died over a hundred times during the past ten years, but I _survived_. I survived it all because I _swore_ to come back.”

“To what end?” the other him spat out angrily. “You are a _monster_. You have the blood of _hundreds_ on your hands! Yes, they did horrible things, but your _Organization_ did-”

“It wasn’t _mine_!” Harry roared, eyes squeezing shut and hands clenching into tight balls at his sides.

“It was _made_ by the people you once called _friends_!” the other Harry thundered right back at him, making air hitch in Harry’s throat. “It was _made_ by Ron and Hermione and people who once followed you, because _you_ weren’t strong enough to finish what you’ve started.”

“No…”

“They took on the mantle of _protecting the wizarding world_ because _you_ weren’t strong enough! While _you_ were _fucking around_ with Peter, they fought battles you could have easily won! It’s no _wonder_ they enslaved you and-”

“No!” Harry screamed, breathing as though he ran a marathon, his magic _bursting_ beneath his skin, _begging_ to be set free and destroy whatever this was, this _illusion,_ this _nightmare_ plaguing him. “ _They_ were _wrong_ ,” he pressed out through bared teeth, “they were _weak_! They couldn’t find a peaceful solution and they blamed it on _me_ , and when they realized that they wouldn’t get anywhere by debating, they decided to _force_ me into doing _their dirty work_!” his words finished in a scream, his other self taking a step back, glaring at him hatefully.

“While _they_ pretended to be good, law abiding citizens, they forced _me_ to kill every single person opposing them,” Harry’s voice broke, coming out hoarse and wavering, and his other self’s frown darkened. “All these people, these _faces_ you’ve conjectured, they are monsters!”

Harry looked around hatefully, eyes settling on one of the faces he knew very well, and he pointed at the man as he looked at his other self again. “That man killed thirteen vampire _children_ , hanging their bodies in the middle of magical Vienna for everyone to see burn when sun hit them.”

Glancing around Harry saw the face of a woman he killed shortly before he escaped the Organization. “ _She_ tortured and killed sixty-seven Veela, using what remained of their _mangled bodies_ to make _beauty products_ and perfumes to attract _men_. _This_ one,” he spat out, pointing at another man, “ _raped_ twenty-three young women between ages of sixteen and twenty, thinking it was alright because they were _werewolves_. And this…” he choked up looking at the face of a man straight in front of him, his eyes watering and guts twisting.

This was the man he actually _enjoyed_ killing – the only assassination he did without feeling any remorse.

 _Jeremiah McCormick_ , the man who led a group of renegade Death Eaters in a spree to end the lives of those who caused Voldemort’s downfall and the man who robbed Harry of the only family he still had left by killing Andromeda and his godson.

When Harry found out about it he almost lost control of his magic. He agreed to give Teddy to Andromeda because at seventeen he was still too young and too damaged by the war to raise his godson.

He didn’t know that Andromeda openly supported the Organization, and for that she paid with hers and the life of Harry’s godson.

Jeremiah was the only man Harry killed with no doubts about it, and that was the only death that never haunted him. If he were to be perfectly honest, there were times when he thought that he killed the man too quickly, that he should have made him suffer more, but time was of essence, and Harry had to make peace with the fact that he made damn sure McCormick knew who killed him and why before sending the fucker to hell.

“He killed my godson,” Harry whispered as he slowly turned around to face the other him. “They’re all murderers. They’re all _monsters_.”

“Are you saying that they _deserved_ to die?” his other self spat out spitefully.

“I can’t make that decision,” Harry bit out, forcing down a difficult swallow. “ _No one_ can make the decision of who deserves to die and who doesn’t, but _believe me_ , the world is a _much_ better place without them in it.”

“So you _did_ enjoy it,” his other self smirked as though he just came to a pleasurable conclusion. “You really _are_ a monster.”

Harry swallowed thickly, shoulders hunching as he ducked his head. “I never said that I wasn’t a monster,” he whispered hoarsely, wincing as though slapped when his other self laughed.

“I thought you thought yourself a hero!” Harry looked up with dead eyes, his other self’s laughter stopping abruptly, lips stretched in a _horrible_ grin. “Admit it,” he drawled in obvious amusement. “ _You_ think your actions were justified. You think that your _purpose_ in life was to kill all these-”

 _“_ No,” Harry stopped his other self weakly, remembering the words someone once told him, words which brought him through the darkest of times, when he thought that he wouldn’t make it, when he would look at the gun on his way back to the base of the Organization thinking that he should simply finish it.

“We are all born with purpose, some glorious some not, but we must always keep in mind to stay true to our task and not to stray,” Harry recited quietly, looking in the eyes of his other self staring at him in confusion, “for it is only a question of time until true colors of mankind be revealed. We must keep tight reign over the monsters lurking under our skin, for what differentiates a hero from a monster is but a thin line of control and understanding that they are but two sides of the same coin.”

Harry forced down a heavy swallow, blinking rapidly as tears started stinging his eyes. “One person’s hero is another person’s villain,” he spoke in a broken voice, hardly above a whisper. “I _know_ that I am a monster and that no amount of contrition will ever erase what I’ve done. But if I’ve managed to save at least a _couple_ of lives while working under the Organization, if I’ve managed to do at least _some_ good…”

A small smile tilted Harry’s lips, eyes filling with sorrow, but sparks of hope appeared in those emerald eyes, making the other Harry’s orbs widen, all glee and joy vanishing from the oval face.

“The Organization ended up doing _nothing_ ,” Harry breathed out. “They ended up being _worse_ than those they fought against because they lost sight of themselves. They thought that the goal justifies the means because they wanted a world of freedom for everyone, and in the end they almost created _chaos_. They would have fallen sooner or later.”

Harry licked his dry lips, looking in the eyes of the other him, his own filled with years of regret, of sorrow and pain. “Maybe I could have done some things different. Maybe if I never left Britain everything would have ended differently. But _they_ were the ones who enslaved _me_. They put a collar on me, _sealed_ my magic, and forced me to kill everyone who got in the way of _their perfect world_.”

A few tears trailed down his cheeks and a weak, quiet laugh escaped his lips. “I am a monster,” he whispered, “and I’ll never claim to be anything else, and I _know_ that nothing I ever do will wash the blood off of my hands, stop the nightmares or make me forget about it all.”

“And would you?” the other Harry asked, taking a small step towards him and bowing his head a bit, and Harry was taken aback when all malice seemed to disappear from the other him, his reflection looking at Harry with honest interest. “Would you like to forget everything? Would you like to have blood washed off of your hands? Would you like for the nightmares to stop?”

Harry stared at the other him for a long moment, rolling the questions around in his mind. His lips then tilted into a small smile and he shook his head, letting go of a long, tired sigh. “No,” he murmured, “I don’t want to forget. The blood will never disappear. The nightmares might stop with time. But forgetting about it wouldn’t erase it. Forgetting about it wouldn’t make me the man I was before.”

He slowly raised his hands only to halt when he realized that the blood had disappeared, his eyes widening when he saw that his right hand was clean of scars. Merry laughter made him look up and he gasped when the faces around him vanished, the other him nowhere to be found.

In the next moment, Harry was blinded by light, and he shielded his eyes with his hands groaning as a sound similar to that of thundering waterfalls filled his ears. It all stopped as quickly as it started, and Harry dared open his eyes, blinking against the light until they adjusted to it, and he found out that he was standing in a big white room with thick pillars.

As he turned around he froze up, for a few meters away from him was the Nemeton, power such as he never felt pulsating from it in steady waves.

 _“You will suffice,_ ” spoke a voice Harry vaguely remembered and he realized that it was coming from the Nemeton. He took a hesitant step forward, every single hair on his body standing up as the power of the ancient tree trembled around him.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, trying to make heads and tails of what was going on.

 _“We need someone to seal our power,”_ echoed through the vast space, _“we need someone to control it. We are old, and our power was sealed to restrain the Void. Now that it is gone and the Three Sacrifices brought life to us, we cannot control it. We need someone to use our power, lest it shall destroy these lands.”_

“It’s too much for me,” Harry answered, shaking his head. “I’m not strong enough…”

 _“But there are those around you who can share in this power,”_ the voices interrupted him and he nodded minutely. _“The young alpha will need power to protect these lands. Use our power to support him. We have served these lands for eons. They have been our home long before humans put a definition to time and space, long before reason appeared in this world. Until such a time when our power returns to normal, until it can be sealed again, we need someone to control it. You will suffice.”_

“But how?” Harry asked, unable to understand what was being asked of him.

_“By remaining on these lands. Your sacrifice will calm our powers for a while. Your magic will channel our power into protecting these lands instead of summoning those who would wish to destroy them.”_

“My sacrifice?” Harry murmured, and light giggling echoed through the white room.

 _“Your scars were a mark of your pain,”_ came as answer and Harry looked at his right hand, slowly clenching it into a fist, still trying to beat it into his head that the scars were gone. _“Your body’s suffering was immense. Your hate towards your deeds although your hand was forced brought our attention to you. By taking all of that from you we have bonded you to these lands.”_

“Taken it all…”

 _“Do not fear,”_ the voices were quick to reassure him. _“You will still remember, but the redemption you didn’t seek will be given to you. Redeem yourself by protecting these lands, by restricting our power until it wanes and retunes to the Earth.”_

“Will I be able to leave?”

 _“Only for a few days at a time,”_ Harry breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he would eventually have to leave Beacon Hills if he wanted to put a stop to Kate’s plans and help Derek. _“The young werewolf’s destiny is beyond your help, Harry Potter.”_

Harry’s heart sunk into his stomach and his eyes widened in horror. “What?” he breathed out.

_“He is in the hands of the Mirror God now, and must prove his worth if he wishes to be absolved.”_

“What does that mean?” Harry asked frantically, his heart beating quickly and lungs struggling to fill up with enough air.

_“The ritual the Jaguar-woman used serves to purify humans, to erase their guilt, to strip them of all their strengths until only the bare truth remains. When that is revealed the young werewolf will be weighed. If he is weighed worthy he will live, if not he will die.”_

Harry’s legs felt week and he fell to his knees, a sharp breath leaving his lips as ice cold horror ran through his blood.

“And-” he choked up, lips quivering, feeling as though his heart was breaking all over again. “And there is no way to save him?” he asked in a broken voice a breath of warmth dancing around his body.

_“What will save him is his heart.”_

And in that moment a loud gong echoed through the room and Harry raised his hands to cover his ears, but before he could even wonder what happened everything went dark, and all thought left his mind.

**cut**

Peter twitched, eyes opening quickly when the pattern in the slow breathing and steady heartbeat changed and he sat up in his chair staring at the still body of Harry Potter in apt attention, unconsciously holding his breath.

For a second he though he only imagined it, but then he saw long lashes fluttering, and not a moment later unfocused emerald eyes opened to meet Peter’s wide ones. Not knowing what else to do, his mind blank for the first time in a long while, Peter did the one thing that he thought of first.

“STILES!”

**cut**

Derek and Stiles startled awake with the werewolf almost falling off of the bed when Stiles flailed, looking around, blinking rapidly as his brain tried to catch up to what was going on.

“What happened?” the teen slurred while Derek got out of bed, quickly tucking his feet in his shoes.

“Peter called for you,” Derek grunted, groggy and clumsy, and Stiles was out of bed in a second, not even bothering with shoes or anything as he ran, pulling the door open and running into the hallway in time to see his dad run out of his own room.

“What happened?” John asked, looking from Stiles to Derek, but the teen ignored his question, running to the last room in the hallway and bursting inside, the other two hot on his trail.

John, Stiles and Derek stopped in their tracks, all three of them gaping in obvious surprise at the sight of Peter leaning over Harry, the werewolf’s right hand flat on Harry’s chest and left running through Harry’s hair, what little they could see of Peter’s face showing surprise and desperate hope.  

“Pete?” they heard a weak, hoarse voice they all hoped to hear as soon as possible, and it took less than a second for them to notice that Harry’s eyes were open, unfocused, shadowed and dilated as they were.

“I’m calling Melissa,” John blurted out and ran out of the room.

“I’m getting Deaton,” Derek added and Stiles spared him a glance and a minute nod before he moved over to the bed on shaky legs, looking at Peter who met his eyes for a mere second before concentrating on Harry who struggled with wheezing intakes of air, cheeks covered with a heavy blush, and a nerve twitching beside his left eye and in the left corner of his lips.

“Harry?” Stiles whispered softly, taking a seat to Harry’s left and glancing at Peter again who seemed unable to speak. Harry breathed out sharply a slight wheezing noise following it and he tilted his head to the side, squinting as he tried to focus on Stiles’ face. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“He became like this the moment he woke up,” Peter pressed out tightly. “His magic feels different. It feels rampant.”

“Stiles…” Harry gasped and the teen looked away from Peter. “Deaton-”

“Derek is already calling him,” Stiles cut Harry off, taking the wizard’s left hand in his right and giving it a small reassuring squeeze. “He’ll be here in no time. You just try to calm down, okay?” the teen’s voice broke and wavered and Harry’s frown darkened as he squeezed Stiles’ hand, his own clammy and too hot.

“He’s burning,” Peter breathed out and Stiles looked at the werewolf, his eyes widening when Peter took a seat to Harry’s right, taking the wizard’s healed hand between his own and for some reason making Harry groan and dig his head back into the pillow, “and in pain,” the werewolf bit out, eyebrows narrowing in concentration, and Stiles’ lips parted in wonder when black veins started spreading up Peter’s arms.  

“Pete… what are you-”

“Shhhhh,” Stiles hushed the wizard, reaching up to brush his right hand through Harry’s sweat-matted hair, distracting Harry from Peter’s actions. Harry was in no condition to hear that Scott unlocked Peter’s memories. Right now they had to calm him down and keep him awake until Deaton arrived. “Calm down,” he spoke tenderly, throat closing up with emotions, heart beating quickly. “Everything will be alright, okay? You said so yourself, remember! We’re going to be fine!”

“Stiles…” Harry murmured, lips tilting in a small smile as his breathing grew almost noticeably lighter, and his muscles uncoiled for the smallest of bits.

“Damn…” Peter cursed and Stiles looked at the werewolf, heartbeat stuttering when he saw the pallor of Peter’s skin, the shadows swirling in his eyes and the beads of sweat on Peter’s forehead. “I can’t take it all. There’s too much of it,” Stiles looked at Harry with wide eyes, panic slowly rising in his chest when he saw that Harry was struggling to stay awake.

“Harry?” his voice wavered and while he grabbed a hold of Harry’s left wrist with his right hand, his left fisted loosely in Harry’s shirt, right over the wizard’s frantically beating heart. “Harry, you need to stay awake, you hear me?” he urged, unable to keep his voice steady, glancing at Peter who was staring at Stiles with something akin to amazement in his eyes, because unlike the teen, Peter had no idea what to do.

His mind was running in circles, his thoughts a jumbled mess, his heart beating almost as fast as Harry’s because Peter remembered the exact time he felt this helpless, and the memory of the horror that followed that feeling, the memory of loss and pain and suffering that ensued cast Peter in a state of paralyzing panic.

“Ne – Nemeton…” Harry blurted out weakly, squeezing Stiles’ hand and looking in the teen’s eyes imploringly, _begging_ for something he had yet to put in words, his body wrecked with pain. “I need to… I need…”

“What?” Stiles gasped, gaze darting all over Harry’s face, trying to connect the dots.

“My magic-”

“Stiles!” the teen turned around sharply when John and Derek ran into the room, both pale and out of breath.

“Deaton is on his way,” Derek spoke hurriedly as he marched over to the bed, standing behind Peter, giving Harry a quick once-over and losing what little color remained on his face.

“Melissa will get here as soon as she reaches Scott,” John spoke, standing at the foot of the bed, looking as though he would start pacing as soon as he was sure his knees wouldn’t fail him.

Harry groaned, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and shifting in bed in a weak attempt to curl up, and the men around him all jumped back when a pulse of power rippled through the room, leaving them all breathless, every hair on their body standing at attention, every nerve tingling as though electricity passed through them.

“What the…”

“It’s his magic,” Peter breathed out interrupting Stiles, and everyone looked at him to see realization slowly dawning in Peter’s eyes. “His magic is going out of control!”

“What do we do?” John snapped, panic rising, and Peter looked around, eyes squinting and lips parted as he tried to think of a solution.

“We need to get him out of here,” he muttered and looked down at Harry when another pained whimper escaped him. “Derek, call Melissa and Deaton and tell them to wait for us at the animal clinic. We’ll bring Harry there as soon as possible.”

“On it,” Derek said and rushed out of the room to call Melissa and Deaton.

“John, your car is bigger than Stiles’ Jeep,” Peter addressed the sheriff who nodded minutely, following the jerky gesticulations of Peter’s hands as the werewolf tried to arrange the plan in his head. “Go start it.”

“Will do,” John blurted out and ran out of the room, remembering in the last second to get the keys of his car from his bedroom.

“Stiles, you’ll help me with Harry,” Peter glanced at the teen who nodded, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, blinking away tears of helplessness and frustration. “Make sure the blanket covers him, okay?”

“Sure,” Stiles murmured as Peter carefully bowed over Harry, wincing as he tucked his arms under the rigid form of the wizard, his face scrunching up when Harry groaned in pain, curling towards Peter, arms wrapping around his midsection as he buried his face in Peter’s neck.

Stiles quickly rounded the bed, making sure the blanket Peter pulled up along with Harry was good and tucked around the wizard, glancing at Harry’s face which was scrunched up in obvious pain, eyes pressed tightly shut, lips sucked between his teeth, and he breathed through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling minutely.

“Let’s go,” Peter pressed out thickly, moving for the door with Stiles close behind, hands hovering in the air as though he wanted to reach for Harry just to make sure Peter wouldn’t lose his grip on the wizard, although he knew that it was impossible.

Peter cradled Harry in his arms as though he would never let him go, his gaze darting to Harry’s face every second or so. They walked out into the crisp evening air finding John and Derek already waiting for them in front of John’s car.

“I called Scott, He’s with Lydia and Kira,” Derek informed Peter and Stiles as they rushed over to them, opening the door to the back seat so Peter could enter. “They were doing research with Kira’s parents since early today,” Derek murmured to Stiles both of them observing watchfully as Peter slowly entered the car, careful of the precious man in his arms.

“Stiles-”

“Derek and I will follow you in my Jeep,” Stiles cut his dad off and John nodded, looking at Derek who just closed the door behind Peter.

“We’ll be right behind you,” Derek muttered and John took a deep breath.

“Be careful,” warned the sheriff and got into the car. Stiles and Derek didn’t even wait for John to close the door, running towards Stiles’ Jeep and getting in.

Stiles somehow managed to put the key in its proper place and start the car, while Derek followed John’s car through the rearview mirror until it drove out of sight. They followed after them a moment later and Derek sat back in his seat, glancing at Stiles and frowning when he saw that the teen was practically _vibrating_ with anxiety.

“Stiles, you need to calm down,” Derek murmured, not even hesitating as he placed his left hand on Stiles’ right thigh, the frown on the werewolf’s face darkening when Stiles hopped in his place and glanced at the hand, Derek hearing Stiles’ heartbeat picking up speed. But Stiles’ scent didn’t tell Derek that he was uncomfortable with the comforting gesture, so Derek assumed Stiles simply didn’t expect it.

“How can I calm down, Derek?” Stiles blurted out, blinking rapidly as he tried to stay focused on the road. “Harry might as well be _dying_ and-”

“Harry isn’t dying,” Derek cut Stiles off and the teen tensed up, sparing a glance in Derek’s direction to see the certainty in the werewolf’s eyes. “He didn’t survive torture and god knows what else to die like this.”

Not having an answer to that Stiles merely pressed his teeth together and focused on the road, bottom lip jutting slightly as it quivered, and Derek’s heart clenched as he tried to think of something to say that would make Stiles feel at least _slightly_ better.

Only nothing came to mind. Unfortunately, Derek wasn’t as certain as he tried to appear to be, his heart aching at the image of Harry in such a weakened state; an image that would probably haunt his memories for the rest of his life.

“Harry won’t die,” the werewolf whispered and looked though the side window and into the darkness. A shiver passed up his spine a second later when a warm, clammy hand covered his and squeezed, and Derek looked at Stiles, his eyes widening when he saw a few tears trail down Stiles’ right cheek, although a small smile tilted his lips.

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles spoke in a hoarse voice, his hold on Derek’s hand growing stronger. “He’ll be just fine.”

Derek nodded even though Stiles wasn’t looking at him and focused on the police car in front of them, hoping that Peter knew what he was doing.

“He’ll be just fine.”

**cut**

“They’re taking Harry to the Nemeton,” Scott spoke as he pulled on his jacket, Lydia and Kira doing the same beside him with Noshiko and Ken observing from the side. “We’re supposed to meet up with everyone at the clinic.”

“Be careful,” Noshiko warned, hugging her daughter when Kira came over to her before moving on to her dad, “we know very little about the Nemeton and what it could have done to Harry.”

“Did Derek tell you anything?” Lydia asked Scott who shook his head.

“They were in a hurry,” he said, “which is why I think you and Kira should go to the clinic while I go to the Nemeton. Derek and Peter might need help.”

Lydia and Kira exchanged a glance, the kitsune nodding minutely before looking at Scott. “We’ll keep our phones close,” she said and Scott gifted his girlfriend with a small smile. “Call if you need us.”

“I will. Let’s go,” the young alpha answered and the three moved out, Lydia and Kira going towards the banshee’s car while Scott made his way to his bike. Before he could climb it though, his phone rang and he answered it as he waved at Lydia and Kira the two driving down the road towards the Animal Clinic.

“Mom?” Scott inquired, eyebrows narrowing when he heard his mom’s strained breathing.

 _“I’m on my way to the clinic. Is everything alright? John didn’t say much,”_ she said and Scott mounted his bike as he answered.

“As much as I understand, Harry’s losing control over his magic. They’re taking him to the Nemeton and they’ll bring him to the clinic later.”

 _“Should I bring anything?”_ Melissa asked and Scott took a deep breath, shaking his head as he tried to think of something.

“I don’t know, mom,” he muttered. “I have no idea what’s going on.” Melissa was quiet for a moment and Scott swallowed audibly, blinking quickly as his eyes started to sting. “We’re in over our heads.”

 _“I know, son,”_ Melissa’s loving voice caressed Scott’s ear, his heart beating just a bit quicker. _“We’ll figure it out. I’ll see you at the clinic, alright?”_

“Sure,” he said, lips tilting into the smallest of smiles. “See you there.” He ended the call, pushing the phone in the inside pocket of his jacket, starting the engine and revving it up.

They _would_ make it out of this.

 _All_ of them.

**cut**

“How is he?” John asked and Peter raised his head looking at the back of John’s through the metal net separating the back of the car from the front before returning his attention to Harry, his heart clenching and his wolf roaring in desperation in the back of Peter’s mind at the sight.

Harry was trembling within Peter’s hold, a small trail of blood on his chin from where his teeth pierced the sensitive skin. His hands were fisted on his chest and he was curled towards Peter, head resting on Peter’s right shoulder. His muscles twitched minutely, coiled and cramped up, and – while Peter wasn’t sure Harry was aware of who was holding him – the werewolf knew that Harry was only barely holding his magic at bay.

A pained whimper sent a shiver down Peter’s spine and his hold on Harry grew stronger as he ducked his head and buried his nose in Harry’s sweat-matted locks, his eyes sliding shut as a pile of anxiousness and fear clogged his throat.

“Rein it in, Harry,” Peter pressed out through his teeth, swallowing thickly when his voice broke and wavered. “Just a bit longer,” he choked out, opening his eyes and looking out the side-window at the darkness of the forest. “Just a bit longer,” he whispered, tensing up when Harry’s right hand fisted on Peter’s chest, and the werewolf held his breath as he looked down into a pair of unfocused, delirious eyes, unique emerald hardly visible because of how dilated Harry’s pupils were.

“P-Pete…” the second Harry’s lips parted to stuttered out the nickname Peter only ever allowed Harry to use, the electronics in the car went berserk and John cursed avidly as they swiveled, only the sheriff’s experience and cool-headedness saving them from crashing in one of the trees lining the sides of the road.

“Damn it!” John cursed and got out of the car when something started smoking beneath the hood, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief when John opened the back door, ducking inside to help Peter and Harry get out, the wizard gasping for air and holding on the Peter with a trembling fist.

“What happened?!” the sheriff and Peter turned around and found Stiles and Derek running towards them, both looking worse for wear, Stiles’ Jeep parked a little ways behind John’s car.

“Harry’s losing control,” Peter informed them, looking down at the wizard when another pained whimper escaped him. “Magic doesn’t work well with electronics.”

“What do we do now?” Stiles asked, hopping in his place and frantically looking around as though he was afraid something would jump out of the darkness and attack them.

“We’re not too far from the Nemeton,” Peter spoke through lightly pressed teeth, taking a quick look around to determine their position. “You two take Stiles’ car to the clinic,” he looked at John and Stiles, both of them immediately shooting practically matching incredulous expressions towards Peter, but before either could complain Peter turned to Derek who nodded minutely. “We’re bringing Harry to the Nemeton.”

“Wait, what if-”

“Peter and I will make it,” Derek cut Stiles off and the teen looked at him wide-eyed, full lips parting, and for some reason everyone held their breaths for less than a heartbeat. “We’ll be fine,” Derek spoke in a tight voice, watching as Stiles struggled to say something.

The moment – of whatever sort it was – broke when Harry let go of a choked up, painful cry, a burst of magic rolling off of him, and Peter almost lost hold of the wizard when Harry thrashed in his hold, bringing Peter down to his knees and making the other three stumble back. Stiles would have fallen if it weren’t for Derek who reacted quickly enough to catch the teen and pull him to his chest, arms reflexively wrapping around Stiles, while John stumbled backwards, raising his arms instinctively to shield his head and neck.

“We need to hurry!” Peter snapped rising to his feet and wrapping his arms tightly around Harry who curled towards Peter again, right arm wrapping around Peter’s neck.

“Go,” Derek pressed out, slowly letting go of Stiles who nodded hurriedly, neither noticing Peter already moving towards the forest, because in an instantaneous decision, Derek leaned in and pressed his lips against Stiles’ in a minute kiss, and then he was gone, rushing after Peter, Stiles staring after Derek in absolute shock while John stared at his son in utter surprise.

“Let’s go,” Stiles murmured, a heavy blush covering his cheeks and he all but ran to his car, John following close behind. They got in, quickly tying their seat-belts with Stiles fumbling a bit as per usual, although it looked as though this time, his fingers just wouldn’t stop shaking for the moment it would take to do the damn job.

“Shit!” Stiles hissed, finally managing to buckle the belt, and he reached for the key to start to car, only to stop when John caught the teen’s right wrist in a tender hold, making Stiles look at his dad, amber eyes wide and lips parted, skin pale and clammy, and John gifted his son with a small, understanding smile, strained as it was.

“Son, breathe,” he spoke lovingly, although he wasn’t in a much better state, but he at least seemed to have managed to keep a cool head. “We won’t get anywhere if we lose it here.”

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered, taking a deep breath, licking his lips and forcing down a heavy swallow. “Yeah, I know.”

“Take a deep breath,” John instructed slowly and Stiles did as he was told, ducking his head and closing his eyes, concentrating on the warmth of John’s hand wrapped around the teen’s right wrist. “Concentrate. Calm down. Harry will be alright.”

“How do you know that?” Stiles spoke in a voice hardly above a whisper, broken and strained, and looked at his dad with shadows swirling in his eyes, _begging_ John to tell him exactly _how_ Harry would be alright.

“Because he has something to live for,” John answered, lips tilting up a bit, and Stiles’ lips parted, the fact that Peter remembered Harry flashing through his mind. Peter was there with Harry. Peter knew the wizard better than any of them. Peter would know what to do to help Harry.

Stiles took a deep breath and straightened, nodding decisively and starting the car without so much as his hands trembling. “You’re right,” he muttered and drove onto the road, not missing the deep intake of breath John took as he sat back in his seat, his hand slipping from around Stiles’ wrist to the teen’s right thigh, and Stiles had a small epiphany.

John wasn’t certain of _anything_. He was only keeping a strong front for the sake of his son. For crying out loud, he _still_ didn’t completely understand the world he was thrust in so suddenly, the world Stiles simply forced himself to accept when his best friend became a werewolf.

While John was aware of everything, he only faced the horror of the Nogitsune, the terror of almost losing his son. And then his once best friend returned to Beacon Hills out of the blue and everything went from bad to worse in a matter of two weeks.

Everything was spiraling out of control, and yet there John was, looking calm and collected, and Stiles felt the respect and love for his dad grow exponentially, high as it already was.

Stiles placed his right hand over John’s, glancing at his dad who looked at his son with a small, wavering, loving smile. “We’ll be alright, dad,” Stiles muttered and John nodded.

“I know, son,” he answered, voice hoarse, and squeezed Stiles’ thigh both for his and his son’s reassurance. “I know.”

**cut**

“We’re almost there!” Peter called out to Derek who ran a few paces behind the older werewolf, sharp, beta-gold eyes taking everything in carefully, making sure that no one was following.

Derek’s heart skipped a beat when an agonized whimper reached his ears, and he unconsciously ran faster, catching up to Peter quickly, but before he could utter a word, another – _stronger_ pulse of magic escaped Harry, pushing Derek several feet away while Peter stumbled with a curse, falling to his knees, and Harry fell out of Peter’s arms.

Not a second later emerald, black and silver sparks of what the werewolves assumed was magic snapped around Harry’s body, and the wizard cried out, climbing to his knees, hands fisting on the wet forest ground as he curled inwards, hard tremors shaking his body, the tendrils of magic forming something resembling a globe around him.

Peter and Derek moved back instinctively, remaining close to the ground in a crouch, watching as the magic scorched the strands of grass and dried leaves around Harry, moisture evaporating from the earth as the wizard struggled to raise his head.

The werewolves lost their breaths when Harry’s eyes snapped open with a pained, choked up growl and the wizard’s features twisted into something _dangerous_ , his eyes glowing bright, luminescent green.

With a dangerous growl, Harry raised his right fist and slammed it into the ground, the globe of magic around him exploding outwards and pushing Derek and Peter further back, the two hitting separate trees before both tumbled to the ground with pained groans. Harry was slowly climbing to his feet, the loose shirt and sweatpants snapping around his body in the harsh wind within the renewing globe of magic.

Something snapped in the air when Harry took a small step forward, stumbling for a mere second as his knees gave beneath his weight, but he managed to straighten, taking another step, and then another, struggling beneath the magic pushing him down, threatening to destroy his body.

“Peter!” Derek called out against the harsh wind that suddenly started blowing around them, pushing the werewolves to their knees, carrying branches, leaves and chunks of earth with it.

“We need to go after him!” Peter shouted over to Derek, somehow managing to climb to his feet. Derek looked at Harry’s back, trying to wrap his mind around the amount of power bursting from the wizard when it was more than obvious Harry was still somehow managing to hold some of it back.

With a determined growl, Derek managed to climb to his feet, eyes glowing beta-gold as his features shifted, and he looked at Peter finding him in a similar state, but in that moment Derek didn’t have time to contemplate that Peter’s wolf-form seemed different to the one he showed several times in the past.

As a matter of fact, he looked more like he did before the fire, before he lost the fight against insanity and surrendered to the desire for vengeance.

Derek looked towards Harry’s retreated back, realization downing on him. Peter has been healing far before Harry came back, but the wizard’s return and the unlocking of Peter’s memories might have been enough to tip the scale. They might have been enough – _more_ than enough to bring Peter back to who he was before everything went wrong.

Another incredible pulse of power and the sight of Harry stumbling for a moment broke Derek’s trail of thoughts and he moved forward, Peter right beside him, and the two followed after Harry, trying to catch up to the wizard despite the shockwaves bursting from the globe around Harry which appeared to become thicker and stronger with every passing moment.

The lightning-like tendrils of magic around Harry obscured the sight of the wizard with how fast they shifted around him and how thick they’ve become, the ground beneath Harry remaining scorched and steaming, the werewolves feeling how hot the ground was with every step they took. Just as they were about to reach the Nemeton, the globe around Harry seemed to waver, and the ever growing pressure seemed to triple in strength bringing Peter and Derek to their knees.

“Derek! Peter!” the two raised their heads weakly, looking over their shoulders, and they found Scott behind them, holding on to a tree which was groaning under the harsh wind and pressure, the young alpha struggling to remain on his feet. At the sight of Scott’s horrified expression, Peter and Derek looked towards Harry again, their eyes widening and air leaving their lungs.

The globe of emerald, black and silver tendrils seemed to have tripled in size while they weren’t looking, the wizard standing in the middle of the tornado of magic, arms wrapped around his midsection as he bent forward.

He stood just a few footsteps away from the Nemeton, and the air filled with a scent not one of the werewolves could name or define.

 _“Here you have your stupid sacrifice.”_ Harry’s voice, distorted, deep and thundering reached their ears as the wizard slowly straightened, the ground starting to shake as lightning flashed in the sky, humidity becoming incredibly thick in the air, warmth growing until it was almost too much to bare, and everything – the trees, the ground, every strand of grass, started to wither around them.

 _“Take it!”_ Harry roared as he fell to his knees, tilted his head back and looked at the thundering heavens. _“Take it all!”_

And in that moment, all that magic, all that accumulated power burst from Harry and into the sky, forming a pillar of light and darkness, the werewolves covering their heads as they did their best to flatten with the ground, trying to protected themselves from flying pieces of wood and earth carried by the torrent of wind and magic.

Peter growled as he slowly raised his head, luminescent eyes trying to catch sight of his mate, widening when through the tornado-like wind he saw Harry. The wizard seemed to be burning, emerald and black flames licking at his body without actually harming him. In what felt like less than the second it took to breathe in everything stopped, all that magic disappearing, the wind stilling, and the pressure dissipating completely, the three werewolves raising their heads quickly and breathing in sharply.

Harry tilted his head back even more, torso leaning backwards, thighs parted and arms hanging lax by his sides, fingers loosely bent on the scorched ground. Peter saw and heard Harry swallow, glimmering eyes hardly open, lush lips parting for the smallest of bits as something around the wizard glimmered.

“Take it all,” Harry breathed out, and if Peter, Scott and Derek weren’t werewolves, they wouldn’t have heard it.

But it wouldn’t matter either way, because not a second after Harry said that, thunder clashed in the sky, lightning flashing so brightly that for a mere _breath_ they thought that the sun had risen.

All that magic that burst from Harry came crashing down all at once, and neither of the three werewolves could suppress the screams of shock and pain which escaped them as they were blown back, tumbling along the forest ground until they hit separate trees, curling in on themselves as magic danced around them in a powerful torrent.

And just as soon as it started, it was all over.

For a few long minutes the werewolves didn’t dare to move. Everything was silent and perfectly still, until a strong heartbeat reached their ears, followed by a wavering intake of breath. They looked up almost at the same time, their eyes widening in shock at what they were seeing.

They thought they would find the land around them scorched and burned out, but they were wrong.

Oh, how wrong they were.

The forest around them looked absolutely _magical_. It appeared as though spring had come to Beacon Hills far before time. The trees were covered in small buds of young leaves, the grass on the ground was thick, and all around them, slithering through the strands of grass and climbing up the thick trunks of old oak and pine trees were thin wines with green leaves hardly bigger than a grown man’s thumb, and delicate, luminescent white flowers not bigger than a pearl among them.

But the most breathtaking sight was that of a proud, tall oak tree in the middle of the clearing, its canopy thick and rich with healthy leaves, and a small, clear spring starting just beneath it, clear, crystalline water making its way with soft rustling gurgles deeper into the forest, caressing the land in its way.

The moment the werewolves set their gazes on _Harry_ though, they lost their breaths. The wizard seemed to be _glowing_ , what skin could be seen appearing to have adopted a moonlight-like quality. His hair seemed somehow _thicker_ , dancing around his head in a light breeze, and there was such a calm, peaceful expression on his face that it made their hearts beat just a bit faster with awe.

Harry tilted his head forward, bright eyes looking at his hands as he raised them, deceptively thin fingers curling inwards a bit. His tongue peeked out to wet lush, succulent lips and he let go of a long, wavering breath before his eyes slipped closed and he lowered his hands in his lap, tilting his head back, and a single tear trailed down his right cheek as a smile decorated the handsome face.

“Thank you…”

**cut**

_I lift my heart as spring lifts up_   
_A yellow daisy to the rain;_   
_My heart will be a lovely cup_   
_Altho' it holds but pain._   
  
_For I shall learn from flower and leaf_   
_That color every drop they hold,_   
_To change the lifeless wine of grief_   
_To living gold._

_\- S. Teasdale, ‘Alchemy’_

**cut**

**To Be Continued…**


	13. Monsters

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**Have fun!!**

**cut**

_I love you - I love you, e'en as I_   
_Rage at myself for this obsession,_   
_And as I make my shamed confession,_   
_Despairing at your feet I lie._   
_I know, I know - It ill becomes me,_   
_I am too old, time to be wise ..._   
_But how? ... This love - it overcomes me,_   
_A sickness this in passion's guise._

_(…)_

_I dare not ask for love - with all_   
_My many sins, both great and small,_   
_I am perhaps of love unworthy!_   
_But if feigned love, if you would_   
_Pretend, you'd easily deceive me,_   
_For happily would I, believe me,_   
_Deceive myself if but I could!_

_\- A. S. Pushkin, ‘Confession’_

**cut**

Strained silence blanketed the waiting room of the clinic, as everyone waited for the results of Harry's examination. Kira, Lydia, Stiles, John and Melissa were all there to see Peter bring in Harry's unconscious form, the wizard appearing different in so many ways that it took their breath away.

Not one of them could believe what Derek and Scott told them, and Peter has been quiet ever since he placed Harry on the examination table and joined them in the waiting room, taking a seat in the very back, staring at something only he could see.

Usually proud shoulders of the oldest werewolf among them were hunched, lips more often than not tilted in a smirk were now down-turned in an agonized frown, icy-grey eyes which gazed guarded upon everything, hiding guilt and insecurities behind arrogance, pride and irony were now dull as Peter thought of everything he had lost to fate’s doing and of the mate he once allowed to be taken and now could have lost forever.

No one understood what happened in that glade. No one understood what the Nemeton did to Harry. No one understood the wizard’s words.

_Take it all._

Take _what_?

What did Harry offer?

Peter could find no answer to that question. Harry’s scars were gone. His skin was clean of any imperfections. Even the hardly visible remnant of the lightning-shaped scar on Harry’s forehead - one that could only be seen if one knew what to look for - was gone.

What did the Nemeton do to Harry?

And what did Harry get in return for his sacrifice?

Those were questions only Harry would be able to answer once he wakes up.

 _‘If he will remember anything at all,’_ Peter thought to himself bitterly, looking down at hands lying lax on his thighs. His fingers still tingled – as though blood was returning to his digits – from when he caught Harry as he fell on the ground in a dead faint. A single touch to the wizard’s bare skin told Peter that Harry’s magic calmed down greatly, stronger than it was when he had last held Harry in his arms, but calmer and more potent.

There was no way for Peter to describe what he had felt when he gathered Harry into his arms and turned to face Scott and Derek who stared in amazement at the sight around them. The forest of Beacon Hills was no longer a sight they remembered. They didn’t know what the magic Harry released did to the preserve, or even where all that magic came from.

It was virtually impossible that it all came from Harry, and the only logical explanation as to what could have happened, was that Harry had taken the magic the Nemeton released.

But wouldn’t that have killed Harry?

Such amounts of magic certainly weren’t normal.

 _‘But then, Harry **did** suffer from it,’_ Peter remembered, eyes slipping closed and eyebrows narrowing as he tried to think of an explanation to what happened. _‘And if he didn’t tell us to bring him to the Nemeton, the magic would have flattened Beacon Hills with the ground.’_

Nothing made sense anymore.

Well… Not that anything made sense before.

Peter thought that getting his memories of Harry back would make things clearer, but while it did bring order to Peter’s mind, it did nothing to calm his heart or his wolf, both of which were now aching to get a moment alone with Harry, to talk to him and clear the air between them.

And maybe – just _maybe_ – depending on how that conversation would go, find a way for them to continue from where they left off.

“Peter?” said man looked up, eyebrows narrowed at the pretty face of Melissa McCall, gaze landing on the plastic cup of coffee offered to him by a slightly trembling hand. “Thought you might need something warm,” she murmured and Peter forced down a swallow, accepting the coffee with a small nod.

“Thank you,” he muttered and took a sip following Melissa’s slow movements as she took a seat in a chair to his right, making him see the state of others.

Stiles was fast asleep leaning against a dozing Derek, the young werewolf having his right arm wrapped around the teen, hand resting on Lydia’s head since she fell asleep with her head on Stiles’ shoulder and her hands clasped around Stiles’ right hand, while the teen’s left hand held on to Derek’s free wrist as though he would never let go.

Scott was a few meters away from them with Kira cradled in his arms, the kitsune sleeping peacefully with her head tucked under Scott’s chin, the alpha’s arms wrapped around her protectively even as he slept. John was standing by the front door, leaning against the doorframe with his right arm wrapped around his stomach, left hand holding a plastic cup of coffee to his lips although it appeared as though he hadn’t touched it.

Peter vaguely remembered John contacting Deputy Parrish to ask if anything strange was reported to the station in the past three hours, all of them breathing a sigh of relief when it appeared that Beacon Hills remained blissfully unaware of what transpired in the forest.

“Can you hear anything?” Melissa asked quietly and Peter looked into her eyes, finding her glancing towards the door leading into the back room where Deaton was alone with Harry.

Peter let go of a sharp breath through his nose and shook his head. “Nothing,” he bit out. “I can’t hear anything coming from there.”

Melissa swallowed audibly and nodded her head, taking a deep breath as she rubbed her thighs with her hands, obviously holding back from hopping or shifting too much or doing _anything_ to show how nervous and frightened she was.

“It’s almost six,” she breathed out glancing at her wristwatch before returning her motherly gaze to the sleeping teens. “School starts soon.”

Peter scoffed and she looked at him with a narrow-eyed stare making the werewolf shake his head. “Do you really think any of them will be willing to leave for school before Deaton comes out of there?”

Melissa stared at Peter for a few long seconds, gauging his words. Then she sighed and shook her head, a small smile tilting her lips as she looked at her son, her kind, loving brown eyes filling with motherly love and understanding.

“No,” she whispered. “I know _I_ wouldn’t.”

Before Peter could answer the door in the back opened startling everyone awake and to their feet all of them looking as though they hadn’t slept at all. Peter was standing before he even realized that he moved, his eyes widening and air hitching in his throat when Deaton walked out closely followed by Harry who had apparently changed his clothes sometimes between being brought into the clinic and walking out of the examination room, the black, form fitting shirt and trousers accentuating every line of the strong body.

“Calm down everyone,” Deaton spoke up raising his hands, although all eyes were focused on Harry whose head was bowed as he fixed the left sleeve of his turtleneck, appearing utterly at ease, although to observant eyes there seemed to be a slight tenseness in the arcs of his shoulders, and wariness in the elegant moves of his body.

“Harry?” Scott called out quietly to the wizard and Harry raised his head, the others almost recoiling when they got a first good look into the wizard’s eyes as Harry adjusted his weight on both feet equally and clasped his hands calmly behind his back.

It looked as though a veil of shadows was removed from Harry’s eyes, the two emerald jewels appearing brighter than ever. Harry stood taller, and only then did they realize just how much pain Harry used to be in and how much they affected his stance. He appeared lighter, his shoulders relaxed, and he no longer looked wary of everything around him, although no one had noticed it until now, when they saw Harry standing at ease.

He looked healthier than he did when he first showed up in Beacon Hills two weeks ago, his skin a tender cream color, and the dark dusting of stubble on his cheeks did nothing to mar his appearance. Even his _hair_ seemed livelier, _thicker_ somehow, dancing around his head in playful straight tresses, making it seem as though a light, hardly noticeable breeze was swirling around the wizard.

“Wow…” Stiles blurted out, unable to keep quiet anymore. “You look – you look _different_ ,” he said and a small smile tilted Harry’s lips as he bowed his head a bit.

“Good different or bad?” he spoke in a thick voice, strong and clear with a purring undertone, which made Peter and Derek exchange a glance, because it sounded awfully close to how it was when the panther still had a hold of Harry’s mind.

“I’d say good,” Lydia spoke up, gaze racking over Harry’s body before settling on his eyes and he cocked an eyebrow at her.

“So I get a stamp of approval?” Harry drawled in quiet amusement.

“Not yet.” Every head in the room turned towards Peter and the air became heavy, the werewolf taking a step forward, crossing strong arms over his chest and raising his head, put unlike before, when each move he made _breathed_ with arrogance, it was obvious to everyone in the room that what he was showing was a front, an attempt to shield himself from possible hurt.

“And why is that?” Harry asked, shifting his weight a bit, chin up, an unreadable stare pointed at Peter. “I assure you, I feel better now than I’ve felt in a long, _long_ time.”

“That doesn’t mean anything right now,” Peter spoke, hardly managing to remain calm in sight of so obviously feigned indifference. “We don’t know what happened to you, what the Nemeton did to you or how it already has and will affect you.”

For a couple of long minutes Peter and Harry stared at one another, no one daring to speak up, because it felt as though they were treading thin ice. It felt as though a strained strand was between the wizard and the werewolf, pulled on both ends just _waiting_ to snap. The tension was palpable, and no one wanted to speak up in fear of making it snap.

“There’s something different about you,” Harry murmured, eyebrows narrowing at Peter who cocked an eyebrow in return. “Your scent…” the wizard took a small step towards the werewolf, his hands falling to his sides and fingers curling into loose fists. “It’s almost the same as I remember.”

While Stiles, Lydia, Scott and Kira exchanged glances of confusion and John and Melissa merely stared at the two men warily, Derek and Deaton shared a glance of quiet communication with Derek nodding minutely, telling Deaton that Harry’s words were true.

“Your scent is stronger than it was ten years ago,” Peter answered, the right corner of his lips curling into a smirk, and it was as though everyone _heard_ the string snap as Harry’s eyes widened and every muscle in his body coiled.

“What?” he breathed out, head snapping in Scott’s direction and the young alpha winced.

“Peter came to me while you were sleeping,” Scott spoke in a slightly strained voice, not knowing what sort of retribution he could expect for not respecting Harry’s wishes.

But instead of lashing out at the young alpha in any way, Harry returned his attention to Peter, lips parted but no words passing them, fingers twitching as though he wanted to grab the werewolf but kept holding back, not knowing what to expect now that Peter remembered him.

“You know it was inevitable,” Peter spoke, looking at Harry from under raised eyebrows, and the wizard so obviously stopped himself from recoiling, his shoulders twitching back for the smallest of fragments, forcing down a difficult swallow, thick and strained.

The wizard’s hands curled into tight fists as he ducked his head, messy bangs falling to cast shadows over darkened emerald eyes, and the werewolves in the room could hear Harry’s heart beat increasingly faster.

“I know,” Harry answered finally, lips thinning in an agonized line, although that was the only sign of his inner turmoil because his muscles relaxed steadily and his heartbeat went back to normal, that indifference he carried on his face when he came out of the examination room slowly returning, and he raised his head as his tongue darted out to wet dry lips. “But it doesn’t change anything.”

“What?” Peter bit out, squinting at Harry, who shook his head and took a step back, turning away from Peter and looking at him sideways.

“What did you think would happen when you got your memories back?” Harry asked, squaring his shoulders. “Your wolf acknowledges me as mate because it recognizes my scent, but for how long?”

“What are you talking about?” Peter asked harshly, taking a step towards Harry, and the others felt the sudden urge to get the hell out of there, the tension growing in the air and the feeling of _something_ straining to snap making them feel entirely too uncomfortable with staying there.

“Peter, the wolf recognized me as mate even _before_ your memories were unlocked, and yet you still regarded me with distrust and anger. How long do you think it will take for your wolf to stop acknowledging me as mate? How long do you think it will take for it to realize that I’m not the man it wanted to claim ten years ago? You said it yourself,” Harry waved his right hand carelessly, “my scent changed,” his hand fell against his side as he shifted his weight, tucking his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. “I’m not the man you used to love; the man you _remember_ loving, because you sure as hell don’t love me now.”

“And you love the _memory_ of me…”

“I held on to that memory for ten years!” Harry snapped at Peter when the werewolf countered him making Peter’s eyes flash blue and a growl rumble in his chest, taking a threatening step towards Harry who didn’t so much as _flinch_.

The others inched towards the door, Deaton taking his place beside Melissa and quietly leading her over to the others, the whole group wanting to get as far away from there as possible before this escalated into a full blown fist-fight, because while all of them wanted to get between Peter and Harry, while they wanted to calm them down and make them sit and talk things through, it felt as though something separated the group from the two mates, something like an invisible wall of pent up emotions, of yearning and sorrow and anger and pain, of years spent hoping and being beaten down by fate over and over again.

“The only thing that kept me even _remotely_ sane was the memory of _you_ , the memory of our time spent together and the hope that you were alright, while I was fed by _lies_ that you and your family were well,” Harry babbled quickly, words spilling off of his lips like a flood, and Peter’s frown darkened with each syllable, the anger and hatred towards those who took Harry from him growing with each passing second.

“I didn’t expect to find you waiting for me, Peter,” Harry spoke tiredly, rubbing his face with his hands before he took a deep breath and flailed his arms tiredly, turning in his place a bit as he looked away from Peter, his right hand settling on his waist while his left covered rosy lips, and the wizard ducked his head, eyes slipping closed, leaving everyone wondering what was going through his head.

Harry took a deep breath through his nose and held it, left hand lowering to rest on his waist as he raised his head and opened his eyes to look at Peter, tongue peeking out to wet dry lips as he stared at the werewolf for a few long minutes, both apparently forgetting about their company.

“I made peace with the fact that there would be nothing between us again, because I thought that you were alright and there was no reason for you to wait for me to come back,” Harry spoke tiredly hands flopping against his sides as he straightened, standing like a man facing the death penalty.

“You think so _little-_ ”

“No,” Harry cut Peter off and shook his head, swallowing thickly before those emerald jewels met orbs of stormy ice-blue. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted for you, Peter, was for you to be happy,” he spoke quietly, shoulders hunching minutely as he rubbed his forehead with his right hand, hiding his eyes from Peter’s, eyes the color of a raging sea widening minutely, “and when I was taken – when I realized what they would make me do – after seeing what I’ve become, I realized that I would never be good enough for you.”

Harry let go of a long breath of air as he tucked his hands in the pockets of the tight jeans, and the wizard shrugged his shoulders as he raised his head, lips tilting in a small self-depreciative smile, eyes darkening with sadness and resignation as he tilted his head to the right and regarded Peter with something no one could name, a quiet agony Harry appeared to be at peace with.

“I truly, _honestly_ hoped that you found someone, and that you were happy,” Harry spoke in a hoarse voice, the corners of his lips twitching up as though he was struggling against the overwhelming need to cry, even though there was not a trace of tears in those viridian depths, speaking volumes of Harry’s iron hard self-control, which was showing perfectly now that his body wasn’t in constant pain, and the sorrow of his past was taken by the Nemeton. “I made an oath to survive it all for however long it would take – to survive the torture and the _constant_ threat to my life – just to be able to come back and see you one last time.”

Peter’s eyes widened as he finally came to understand Harry’s reasoning. He was finally coming to understand why Harry didn’t want Peter to remember despite the overwhelming _need_ the wizard must have – must _still_ feel for the werewolf. He finally understood why Harry refused to give them a chance, why Harry denied himself the comfort of having a mate, of finally having peace.

“I hoped that you were happy and when I learned the truth-” Harry’s voice broke and he swallowed thickly, ducking his head as he took a deep breath, holding it before he huffed and shook his head with a smile full of irony stretching his lips. Harry had grown pale during it all, and his eyes turned glassy as he looked at Peter, neither noticing that the others had left them alone, Deaton closing the door on their way out, all of them knowing that Harry and Peter needed to resolve things before they could move on.

“When I met Deucalion, I was in the middle of a mission, and I was attacked seconds after he informed me that the Hale Pack was gone-” Harry choked up as he shook his head, unconsciously taking a small step towards Peter who stood frozen in his place, watching the wizard in front of him, finally realizing that this was truly not the man he once knew.

This was a broken, hopeless shell of a man, a _shadow_ of the proud wizard he remembered, just a shade lingering in this world for no other reason but to suffer the pain of fate and destiny.

“The only thing I cared about in that moment,” Harry continued speaking stopping just a few feet away from Peter, and the werewolf forced down a difficult swallow, something thick and heavy and acidic settling in his throat as he stared at the man he remembered loving more than anything in the world, “the only thing I needed was to confirm that you were indeed gone. When the leaders of the Organization told me it was so, I lost it-”

“Harry-”

“I love you… _so much_ …” Harry pressed out quietly, thickly, and Peter felt as though his heart would stop beating, such a pain gathering in his chest that it could not be measured or described in any words written or thought.

Peter remembered what he had seen in Scott’s memories, the desperation, the pain, the horror Harry felt when he found out Peter was alive, the pure, white, searing sorrow – the _greatness_ of Harry’s suffering and desperation at the discovery.

All of a sudden, Harry’s denial made so much sense. Harry spent years imagining – _hoping_ that Peter was alive and well, and that was the only thing that kept the wizard going. He thought himself unworthy of Peter, thought himself unable to make Peter happy because of the things he was forced to do, the blood on his hands, years of loneliness and both physical and mental pain slowly eating away at his mind.  

“I came to Beacon Hills hoping to find out what happened,” Harry spoke quietly, and Peter found the wizard standing closer than he remembered Harry being, their breaths mingling between them, gazes boring into one another’s, something resembling static electricity snapping between their bodies. “I came here not knowing of everything you’ve faced, of the horrors that happened here. I thought you were all dead. You… Derek…”

Harry shook his head, looking up in Peter’s eyes, a smile tilting his lips at the obvious differences in their built. While before they were almost the same – lithe and lean – Peter had changed over the years. He was always just a few centimeters taller than Harry, but it wasn’t all that noticeable because of the similarities in their build.

Now? Peter’s shoulders were stronger, his chest was broad and firm, and Harry could only _imagine_ how it would be to allow Peter to hold him again, each nerve in his body _burning_ with scorching need although every piece of his being fought against it, refusing to grant the wizard hope that there would be anything between them.

He could only imagine how it would feel to have those hands holding him, how it would feel to have them trace his body as they used to, caressing every line, every surface with revering tenderness.

He could only imagine.

“So much happened in just two short weeks,” Harry whispered, unable to speak louder than a breathless murmur, feeling Peter’s warmth wrapping around him as he stared in those eyes which were steadily turning luminescent blue, the wolf slowly coming out because of the closeness of the one he thought of as mate. “And I hoped – I really hoped that I would manage to stop you from remembering-”

A spark of anger ignited in Peter’s heart and the wizard suddenly found himself slammed against the closest wall, clawed hands fisted in the collar of his shirt, his hands reflexively wrapping around Peter’s wrists although he made no action to fight against the werewolf.

“To what purpose?” hissed the werewolf angrily, gaze darting all over Harry’s face as though the answer to all those questions plaguing his mind could be found there. “To what purpose did you want to stop me from remembering you? Did you think it would hurt less?! Did you think it would be easier to leave?!”

“I never intended to leave-”

“Then why fight it?!” Peter roared angrily, making Harry still completely, emerald eyes wide and air stuck somewhere in his lungs as he stared at the werewolf’s rage-full expression, unable to ignore the pain and sorrow lurking in those beautiful eyes. “Why deny me the memory of you – of what we had? Do you think me a fool? Do you think I would discard you because of something you were forced to do – because you were broken by them!”

“Peter…” Harry breathed out trying to stop Peter, but the werewolf would not be deterred.

“You say I only _remember_ loving you,” Peter pressed out through tightly clenched teeth, a pained whine lacing his words, the wolf showing its head as Peter’s teeth grew sharper. “You say that even after you’ve lived for a _decade_ loving a memory! You say that it was the only thing keeping you sane, and what about me?!” Peter thundered pushing Harry against the wall and flattening his body against the wizard’s, settling like a lost puzzle-piece between Harry’s parted thighs, the only thing either was aware of being the contact of their eyes.

“I searched for you, Harry,” Peter spoke in a wavering voice. “I searched high and low, losing bits of my sanity with each passing moment, the only clue I had being three fading scents in your bedroom.” Harry’s eyes widened and his heart beat harder, the realization that Peter never once thought that Harry abandoned him willingly hitting him like a ton of bricks. “And now…” words died on Peter’s tongue as he gazed deep in Harry’s eyes, the wizard’s bottom lip quivering as a few tears trailed down pale cheeks, breath coming out in short, strained gasps.

Peter moved even closer if possible, Harry sliding lower against the wall, his legs unable to hold his weight, completely helpless against Peter’s strength as the werewolf tucked his left arm between Harry and the wall, holding the wizard close, right hand coming to cup one pale cheek.

Peter wiped a single tear away with his thumb, the tenderness of that simple action kicking the air out of Harry’s lungs and leaving him breathless and weak. “Now you’re here,” he breathed out, hardly making a _sound_ , yet the words were clear to Harry as though the werewolf was shouting them. “You’re here and you’re denying me – denying _us_ because-”

Thin lips parted and closed several times as Peter tried to push the words past his lips. He was saner than he was at any time in the past ten years and yet he felt as though he would go insane again if the air between him and Harry didn’t resolve soon, if _something_ didn’t change between them quickly for better or for worse.

Peter knew he was damaged. He wasn’t _half_ the man Harry remembered. But he also knew he was _whole_. He knew he was _healed._

“Am I so broken…”

“No,” Harry shook his head, finally managing to press something past the pile of love and sorrow and igniting hope in his throat. “No, no, no…”

“Then _why_?” the werewolf whispered, looking in Harry’s eyes imploringly, _begging_ him to explain, because it only took one look at Harry even _before_ Peter got his memories back to see how broken Harry was.

Peter stopped breathing for a moment when a pair of trembling fingers entwined gently in the hair behind Peter’s ears, thumbs caressing the werewolf’s temples as Harry’s gaze darted all over Peter’s face as though he was cutting it into his memory all over again, right hand slipping down to trace Peter’s lips and the stylish circle beard surrounding them, a breathless, short laugh escaping parted lips as Harry felt the softness of it under his fingers.

“Am I so broken that you can’t stand the thought of being with me?” Peter asked weakly, looking deep into Harry’s eyes, the gaze returned with sadness and resignation as Harry shook his head. There was an overwhelming vulnerability there with insecurities inlaid after more than a decade apart.

“You’re not the broken one, Peter,” Harry murmured weakly, viridian depths glowing with love, warmth and tenderness. “ _I_ am.” Tears trailed down pale, lightly stubbled cheeks in small drops, lush, succulent lips quivering as Harry struggled to breathe. “And I can’t be what everyone needs.” Harry swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, suffering etching itself into every line of that handsome face. “I can’t be anyone’s savior.”

Peter laughed shortly, breathlessly, weakness suddenly overwhelming him, and he leaned against Harry, wrapping both arms around the wizard, every muscle in his body coiling when Harry’s arms settled around Peter’s shoulders, and the werewolf hid his face in Harry’s neck, breathing in the pure scent of his mate.

“How are you the broken one…” Peter pressed out in a whisper, the wolf disappearing in the back of his mind, and something akin to lethargy washed over both wizard and werewolf, leaving them unable to so much as move. “How are you the broken one if I’m the one who needs saving?”

“Wrong,” Harry answered and Peter raised his head to look in those amazing eyes, orbs of pure emerald which ensnared him and enchanted him the first time he gazed into them. “You’re not the one who needs saving,” Harry murmured, cupping Peter’s face within a tender hold and caressing the werewolf’s cheeks with his thumbs, staring deep in Peter’s stormy eyes. “You don’t need saving. You’ve already saved yourself.”

Peter’s eyebrows met in a confused frown because Harry made no sense according to what Peter thought Harry wanted to achieve by concealing the truth about them.

“You don’t need anyone to save you, Peter,” Harry shook his head, tears running harder. “ _I_ do,” he choked out as he started losing his breath and Peter’s eyes widened with realization. “I need someone to save me, Peter. I – I -”

Unable to think of anything, not knowing what else to do or say, Peter slammed his lips against Harry’s, drowning whatever words Harry tried to push out in a needy moan, making the lithe body of the wizard arch away from the wall and closer to Peter, a surge of warmth passing over both of them.

They parted for a mere second, sharing a deep glance full of questions and insecurities, but not a heartbeat later their lips met in a kiss which could have shaken the very foundations of the Earth. Peter pushed Harry against the wall, hurriedly grounding his hips against the wizards as he tucked his hands under the black turtleneck, taking a firm hold of Harry’s waist and hefting him up, his grip on Harry strong enough to leave bruises on perfect skin.

A gasp escaped Harry’s lips, hands fisting on Peter’s shoulders as the werewolf bit harshly down Harry’s chin, latching sharpening teeth on the pale column of the wizard’s neck, just above the line of the high collar, intent on leaving a mark on unblemished skin. Rolling his hips to meet Peter’s, their straining members meeting through layers of clothing, Harry threw his head back, eyes slipping closed, a choked up curse escaping bruised lips when clawed hands slid down to take a firm hold of his ass.

A bout of scorching, soul-searing need burst in Harry’s core and his eyes flashed open, glowing bright green, pushing Peter away and drawing a threatening growl from the werewolf before it was quieted by kiss-swollen lips covering the werewolf’s, strong hands pushing against Peter’s chest until he met the wall and Harry’s hands tangled in Peter’s hair, holding him still as their lips met time and time again, teeth clacking harshly and breaths mixing between them.

Peter growled as he grabbed a hold of Harry’s thighs and moved to heft him up, but as he attempted to turn around he ran into a chair and they tumbled onto the hard floor, the werewolf huffing when Harry landed harshly on top of him. Silence settled in the room as Harry leaned over Peter, hands braced on the werewolf’s broad chest, feeling Peter’s straining need against his ass, Peter’s hands keeping a firm hold of Harry’s hips.

Their eyes were locked in a stare full of amazement, of confusion, desire and agonizing _need_ , bodies wrecked with waves of heat and passion. They both breathed as though they couldn’t get enough air, still sans the twitching of their muscles, both wanting to continue where they left off yet unable to move out of fear of where they were and what that could mean for them.  

“Peter…” Whatever Harry wanted to say was lost in a grunt of surprise when Peter flipped them over, somehow taking a hold of Harry’s wrists as he came to loom over the wizard, shaking his head to distract himself from the way he so _perfectly_ fit between Harry’s thighs, how the wizard’s scent seemed to wrap around him, drawing him in, how Harry’s warmth enveloped him, _begging_ him to stay, especially now that Harry finally admitted something Peter unconsciously knew ever since he first laid eyes on Harry back in the hospital.

“You are my mate,” Peter spoke, each word carrying such a weight that Harry felt as though he was drowning, although no one could ever say that he would in any way fight it.

If it would bring him peace he would gladly drown. If it would make him forget for a single _moment_ that he truly wasn’t good enough, he would gladly dive head first into everything that was Peter Hale and sink within him until he was no more.

Peter Hale was an ocean of everything Harry ever desired, a current of such strength that it could not be seen with the naked eye, so powerful, so strong and unyielding, that Harry’s whole world revolved around it.

Peter Hale was an ocean Harry would be happy to drown in. He would give his all to become one with Peter, even if it would mean his own destruction. He would give his every breath, every beat of his heart if it would mean the salvation of Peter’s warmth.

“I am,” Harry breathed out utterly unaware of the way he was looking at Peter or how his body completely relaxed, not a trace of fight in a single cell, viridian depths speaking volumes of selfless surrender.

Staring in those emerald jewels, Peter felt as though there was something he should pay attention to, something that was _begging_ to be noticed, but for the _life_ of him he couldn’t figure out _what_. Gaze racking over Harry’s face and torso, the werewolf tried to find a clue as to what felt so utterly _wrong_.

Glancing back at Harry’s face, it finally hit him.

Tears were trailing down pale cheeks, and Harry’s breathing went back to normal. Eyes Peter could stare in for the whole of eternity looked at him without seeing him, and those perfect lips were slightly parted, swollen from the force of the kisses they had shared.

Harry’s hands were loosely fisted, but the tips of his fingers were turning white, and Peter’s breath hitched in his throat when he realized that the hold he had on Harry’s wrists was too strong. He slowly started to let go, bitterness filling his throat at the sight of his handprints around thin wrists bound to bruise.

The werewolf froze when Harry slowly raised his hands and cupped Peter’s face within them making the werewolf shiver at the slight coldness of the digits. His hands fisted on the tiled floor on either side of Harry’s head, staring at the wizard without knowing what to say or if he should say anything at all.

“How long, Peter?” Harry whispered brokenly, tracing Peter’s cheekbones with the tips of his fingers. “How long will it take until you realize that I’m not good enough?”

Suppressing a pained wine, Peter took a gentle hold of Harry’s forearms, finally understanding what was wrong.

Harry had given up. He resigned himself to this… whatever was going on between them. He believed he wasn’t good enough for Peter; that the werewolf could never love him the way he did before, that Peter’s wolf would eventually stop acknowledging Harry as mate, and yet he surrendered.

He gave up.

And it hurt.

It hurt more than anything, because Peter _remembered_ loving Harry more than he loved anything in the world. Harry _was_ his world, and this broken shell of a man, so lost in all the suffering and pain he survived, was willing to give himself to Peter even though he firmly believed the werewolf would eventually discard him.

“Do you love me so much?” Peter spoke in honest amazement, feeling warmth returning to Harry’s fingers. “Even after finding out about what I did…”

“I would have done worse,” Harry murmured, eyes dry and hard as he swallowed thickly, corners of his lips curling sufferingly. “I’ve already done worse.” Harry looked deep in Peter’s eyes, the werewolf’s heart beating just a bit faster as a small smile tilted those perfect lips and Harry let go of a choked up, wet, short laugh before swallowing thickly. “Could you really learn to love a monster?” he asked in a weak, breathless voice, and Peter clenched his teeth tightly together.

 _You’re not a monster_ , he wanted to say. _If anyone here is a monster it would be me_ , he wanted to shout, but he knew neither sentences would reach Harry. Peter brought his own niece to Beacon Hills trying to make her help him in his plans for vengeance only to end up killing her when she refused and taking her place as alpha. _He_ was the _real_ monster.

 _I already love you,_ he wanted to say, but he knew Harry wouldn’t believe him. Just as Harry said, Peter _remembered_ loving the wizard, and he honestly didn’t know if it was true or not. He knew he needed Harry like every breathing creature needed air, and that there was no way in hell he would let Harry go.

 _I’ll learn to love you_ , he wanted to say, but would Harry believe him?

“Peter?” the choked up, wet whisper shook Peter out from his musings and he forced down a swallow. Silvery eyes slid closed as he trailed his hands up Harry’s forearms before he wrapped them gently around trembling digits, pressing two tender kisses against the soft, warm skin.

“If you’ll let me,” he spoke tightly and opened his eyes finding Harry staring at him wide-eyed. “If you’ll let me, I’ll learn to love you.”

Harry let go of a sharp breath of air and sat up making Peter move back, every muscle in his body coiling, eyes widening when Harry wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist and buried his face in the werewolf’s chest, shoulders heaving as he truly, openly cried for the first time in a while seemingly unable nor willing to stop.  

Peter squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he wrapped his arms around Harry and buried his nose in raven strands. Muffled, choked up gasps for air shook the slighter frame, painful sobs echoing through the silence of the clinic.

Peter didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that this could very well be the first time Harry allowed himself to cry like this, without struggling to stop the tears from falling, without holding in the heart-shattering sobs and gasps, without struggling to be quiet and still.

Harry may have raged and raved, tears may have escaped him before, but never like this.

Never like this.

And Peter’s heart – the heart he thought was broken and empty – clenched within his chest with pain, and even though he knew telling this to Harry would only bring the wizard pain at this point, Peter knew.

He knew that a part of him still truly loved Harry; the part of him that couldn’t forget the wizard even though his memories were locked away. And he knew that he would not let Harry out of his sight. He lost the wizard once. He won’t allow that again.

Harry was back in his arms, right where he belonged.

And he would stay there, no matter what Peter would have to do.

**cut**

_“This is a love story._   
_Twisted and messy._   
_Flawed and screwed up._   
_But it’s ours._   
_It’s us._   
_I don’t know how our story will end,_   
_But I know it will start.”_

_\- Michelle Hodkin, ‘The Retribution of Mara Dyer’_

**cut**

The practically terrified group of people standing on the other end of the parking lot in front of the clinic looked towards the small building when the werewolves among them raised their heads, both Derek and Scott looking slightly shocked.

Sun was slowly breaking on the horizon the group having been standing there for a good hour, no one wanting to leave until Harry and Peter emerged from the clinic.

But the sight they were witnessing was not one they were expecting.

“Harry…” Stiles gasped, but he was stopped from running forward by Derek taking a firm yet gentle hold of the human teen’s right forearm, shaking his head when Stiles looked at him.

“He was crying,” Scott muttered and Stiles glanced at his best friend before looking at Peter who was walking towards them, effortlessly carrying Harry’s sleeping form in his arms, apparently not minding at all the hand fisted on his right shoulder.

When Peter came close enough everyone could see the small, drying wet patches on his chest, and no explanation was needed, especially at the sight of red trails on Harry’s cheeks and the tormented line between the wizard’s eyebrows.

“What happened?” Melissa asked as she hurried over, brushing a gentle hand through Harry’s hair.

“He exhausted himself,” Peter murmured, obviously tired if his drooping eyes were anything to go by, his weariness visible no matter how much the werewolf tried to appear alert. “He needs to get some rest. We _all_ do,” he added as an afterthought and the group exchanged glances.

“I can take Kira home,” Lydia offered and the kitsune exchanged a glance with Scott who gifted her with a small smile and a confirming nod, everyone’s tiredness obvious in the dark smudges under their eyes.

“Call when you wake up,” the alpha said, “both of you.”

“We will,” Kira murmured and approached Scott, offering a small smile before she pecked the right corner of his lips. “Get some rest.”

“Sure,” Scott answered and watched as Lydia and Kira left the parking lot hand in hand.

“Scott, I’ll take Melissa home,” John offered, receiving a grateful glance from Melissa while Scott looked at his mom with lips tilted up.

“I’ll follow on my bike,” Scott said, tucking his hands in the pockets of his jacket before he looked at Stiles, Derek, Peter and Harry.

“We’ll make our way home too,” Stiles spoke, trying to cover up a yawn and making Derek frown, even though he didn’t look all that perfectly awake either.

“I’ll drive. You look dead on your feet,” Derek offered, shifting his weight a bit as he glanced in John’s direction, receiving only a small, approving nod which made the werewolf breathe a sigh of relief before he could stop himself.

“What about you?” Stiles asked Peter, finding the oldest werewolf among them looking at Harry’s sleeping face only to glance at the human teen after being addressed.

“I’m staying with Harry,” he spoke, tone leaving no room for argument, although no one wanted to argue either. If one took a careful look at Peter, the change in him was impossible to miss, and while it didn’t make anyone trust him more than they would a complete stranger, it made them give him the benefit of a doubt, _especially_ after seeing the way he held Harry, as though the wizard was a fragile piece of fine glass meant to be protected.

“I’ll stay with you as well,” Derek murmured, taking a quick look around the parking lot, his gaze landing on Deaton who gave a small nod. “We’ve still gotten nowhere, and until we find out what happened to Harry, we need to be careful.”

“I agree,” John said and looked at Deaton. “If you hear anything…”

“I’ll inform you immediately,” Deaton cut John off, offering a small smile, mysterious as it was. “Get some rest. All of you.”

“Let’s go,” John said and everyone went separate ways.

Derek helped Peter settle Harry in the back of Stiles’ Jeep, the older werewolf more than obviously unwilling to let Harry go even for a minute. Silence reigned in the tight space of the Jeep, Stiles having fallen asleep the moment his head hit the headrest, soft snores passing parted lips.

Derek glanced at the back seat through the rearview mirror, seeing his uncle’s glazed expression. Those usually cold icy grey eyes stared at Harry’s sleeping face as though they weren’t quite seeing him, Peter seemingly lost deep in thought.

“Is he alright?” Derek asked quietly, careful as not to wake Stiles up.

“Yeah,” Peter answered in a slightly strained voice, thick and deep, and Derek’s eyebrows narrowed as he concentrated on the road, taking a turn and making note that they were two streets away from Stiles’ place, “and before you ask, I don’t know what happened to him. We didn’t exactly talk about it.”

“I know,” Derek answered making Peter glance up, but Derek didn’t remove his gaze from the road. “I didn’t hear everything, but I heard bits and pieces,” he added, grateful that Peter kept watching Harry and didn’t notice Derek doing his best to conceal a yawn.

Just because he was managing to keep himself awake didn’t mean that he was any less tired than everyone else. As a matter of fact the only two times Derek remembered being this drained was when he healed Cora by giving up the powers of an alpha and almost dying after falling with Ennis. Derek didn’t know how he was managing to stay awake, but he was honestly looking forward to finding the closest flat surface and falling asleep. He wouldn’t mind spending the next twenty-four hours in dream-land either.

Derek almost sighed in relief when he saw Stiles’ house and slowly drove onto the front lawn, glancing to the right when John parked beside him. “Wait,” he said and looked at Peter. “I’ll help you get out.”

Peter answered with a minute nod and shifted his hold on Harry, his heart beating just a bit faster when the wizard curled closer to him, seeking Peter’s warmth.

The door to Peter’s right opened and he slowly got out of the car, noticing John walking over to them and glancing at the front passenger seat to see Stiles still sleeping soundly.

“I’ll take Harry to his room and stay with him,” Peter muttered, receiving two short nods from John and Derek, the werewolf making his way around the car to get Stiles out while Peter made his way to the house.

“I’ll take him up,” Derek said while John held the door of the Jeep open and Derek gathered the sleeping teen into his arms, Stiles not giving any sign that he was about to wake up.

“You can stay here as well,” John spoke as he slowly closed the door of the Jeep making Derek halt mid-step and look at the sheriff in slight surprise.

John chuckled quietly as he walked over to Derek and gently clapped the werewolf’s back, the two of them making their way into the house.

“I’m not blind, son,” John said, holding the door of the house open for Derek who honestly didn’t know what to say. “I can see that you care for Stiles.” The sheriff came to stand in front of Derek and ducked his head to look at the werewolf from under slightly raised eyebrows pointing a finger at Derek, lips tilted in a small smirk. “Just keep your hands above his waist until he says otherwise and we’ll get along nice.”

“S-sure…” Derek stuttered out, utterly stunned at the ease with which John went along with the knowledge that his underage son was dating an older man, but Derek wasn’t about to test his luck. “I’ll just get him to bed and sleep in the living…”

“Derek-” John cut him off, letting go of a grave sigh and rubbing his face with his hands before placing them on his waist. The sheriff looked around the hallway, light breaking through the thin windows on each side of the door and from the big window in the kitchen to their right.

“Stiles isn’t a kid anymore,” John spoke gravely and looked straight in Derek’s eyes. “As much as I want him to be my little boy again, he’s not anymore. He lived through too much to still be called a kid. But I _will_ protect him from anything wishing him harm.”

Derek swallowed thickly, his heart clenching in his chest, a wave of relief washing over him when John placed his right hand on Derek’s left shoulder before it slipped down to rest on top of Stiles’ head.

“Just…” John hesitated, lips parting and closing several times as he looked at Derek imploringly, “Just help me protect him, alright?”

“I will,” Derek spoke in a tight voice, nodding his head shortly, and the corners of John’s lips curled upwards, pale blue eyes warming considerably as he let go of Stiles and turned on his heel.

“Go to sleep, son,” John said as he walked into the kitchen. “I need coffee.”

Not knowing what to say or do, Derek made his way up the stairs and into Stiles’ room, closing the door slowly before he made his way to the bed. He gently lowered the sleeping teen on the bed, carefully pulling the covers from under Stiles before he toed off his shoes and took a seat beside the human teen.

Derek could hear no other movement in the house sans John moving around the kitchen as quietly as he could, the faint scent of coffee tickling Derek’s nose, mixing with all the scents which defined Stiles.

Carefully, doing his best not to jostle Stiles too much, Derek lied down beside him, pulled the covers over both of them and tugged the teen closer wrapping his left arm around Stiles’ midsection and burying his nose in the teen’s sweet-smelling hair.

The steady beating of Stiles’ heart, the soft snores escaping slightly parted, lush lips, the calm rise and fall of shoulders which always seemed to carry the weight of the world on them, calmed Derek’s frayed nerves to the point of serving like the best lullaby anyone could ever think of.

Derek could feel his muscles relaxing, every thought running through his mind coming to a slow stop as perfect content settled over him. Warmth enveloped him like a pair of soft, tender wings, and when Stiles sighed and relaxed back against Derek, shifting just a bit as though he wanted to move as close as possible even in sleep, Derek felt his heart beat just a bit faster, and a small smile tugged on his lips.

He placed a loving kiss on the nape of Stiles’ neck, huffing when the teen’s whole body shivered minutely, and then Derek closed his eyes and settled against Stiles, falling asleep to everything that made the teen. Everything that had without Derek’s notice or knowledge become his only reason for living.

**cut**

“Here we are,” Lydia commented lightly only to raise her right hand and cover her mouth when she yawned widely, eyes pressing tightly shut, but even through the short moment of deafness, she heard the soft giggle coming from Kira.

“Come on, you can sleep over,” the kitsune said as she got out of the car and Lydia stared after Kira with a slight squint, weighing her chances of getting home without falling asleep at the wheel. “I don’t think my parents will mind.”

Deeming the risk too big, the banshee shrugged and got out of the car, locked it, and made her way towards Kira who stood in front of the door, waiting for Lydia with a small smile tilting soft, thin lips. Lydia wavered on her feet a bit, blinking a few times as though to clear her vision.

“Come,” Kira murmured and wrapped her left arm around Lydia’s waist as they entered the house, stopping when Noshiko hurried over to them – still managing to look utterly dignified – a smile of relief curling her lips up when she saw that both girls were alright although both looked dead on their feet.

“Is everyone alright?” she asked, watching as Lydia and Kira exchanged a glance.

“As alright as they can be,” Kira answered readily, offering a small, strained smile. Noshiko took a deep breath and nodded, giving the two girls a good once-over. “Lydia will stay over since she’s in no condition to drive; too tired.”

“That will be more than fine,” Noshiko spoke, offering a welcoming smile. “Take a shower and go to sleep. You need to get some rest. I’ll wake you up for lunch if you want,” she offered and Kira shook her head.

“I think we’d both just like to sleep for as long as possible,” she spoke as she looked at Lydia who nodded, already taking her phone out of her purse to send a message to her mom.

“Very well,” Noshiko said and nodded her head. “I need to go out in the afternoon so I’ll leave lunch in the oven. Eat when you wake up.”

“Thanks, mom,” Kira said and led Lydia through the house and to her bed room, neither feeling awake enough to bother with taking a shower.

“We don’t have a guest room, unfortunately, since my mom uses it as her office,” Kira spoke while Lydia took a seat on the kitsune’s bed watching with bleary eyes as Kira dug around her wardrobe for a pair of pajamas.

“I can sleep on the floor,” Lydia mumbled, and Kira laughed when she looked at the banshee finding Lydia slumping in her seat, looking for all rights and purposes like she was sleepwalking.

And yet she _still_ managed to look amazing, which was absolutely ridiculous in Kira’s honest opinion. Never the less, she didn’t want to comment on it, pulling Lydia up to her feet and handing her a pair of pale blue pajama-shorts and a soft, silky t-shirt.

“Nonsense,” Kira blurted out, smiling brightly at Lydia who all but pouted with a groan, toeing off her shoes after she threw the clothes she was given on the bed and tugging her shirt over her head.

Kira turned her back on Lydia, changing into her own sleep-wear, turning around only to find Lydia already curled on top of the covers, practically already asleep. Kira sighed and shook her head, walking over to the bed and carefully pulling the covers from under the banshee before she slipped in beside Lydia, covering both of them and leaning against the strawberry-blond back to back, humming as Lydia’s warmth seeped into her body.

Before the young kitsune could connect another sensible thought, she was already asleep, the sun of a new day breaking through the light curtains swaying on the gentle, chilly breeze dancing through the slightly open window.

Finally they could rest.

**cut**

“Won’t you go to bed?” Melissa asked as she walked into Scott’s room carrying two mugs of warm chocolate in her hands. She found her son sitting on his bed, shoulders hunched and face scrunched up in deep thought, his hands lying in his lap.

She took a deep breath as she walked over to him and took a seat to his left, placing the mugs on the nightstand before she turned towards him.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” she murmured softly and Scott looked at her, lips thinning as he tried to smile for his mom, but failing, his eyes full of doubts and questions and worry.

Melissa brushed her right hand through Scott’s soft, curly strands frowning in worry when Scott wordlessly turned towards her and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her neck, leaving Melissa with no other option but to hug him tenderly.

Scott breathed out when his mom started to brush her right hand through his hair, his heart clenching in his chest as he tightened his hold on her.

“Scott, what is it?” she asked lovingly, moving back a bit and making him look at her by cupping his face within her hands, caressing tanned cheeks with her thumbs.

“We found out what’s wrong with Derek,” Scott spoke in a strained, wavering voice, and Melissa’s eyebrows narrowed. “Things just keep piling one on top of another, mom, and I – I just don’t know what to do anymore,” he admitted, chocolate brown eyes turning glassy.

“Oh, Scott…” Melissa pulled him into her arms, holding on to him tightly.

“Derek’s dying, mom!” Scott pressed out against the tender skin of Melissa’s neck, feeling her freeze up. “The ritual Kate used… No one ever survived it! He’ll lose all his powers until he turns human, and he’ll – he’ll _die_!”

“Are you sure?” Melissa moved back, cupping his face again and looking straight into his eyes, her heart beating quickly within her chest, a gasp passing her lips when Scott shook his head.

“No,” he blurted out, standing up and starting to pace. “The ritual was only ever used on humans. It’s meant to _absolve them of sins_. The ritual is _purifying_ him.” The frown on Melissa’s face darkened with each word passing Scott’s lips. “He’ll gradually lose all of his power until he ends up human, but there’s no way for us to know if he will survive that.”

“But there’s still a chance that he _will_ survive, right?” Melissa asked as she stood up and Scott stopped pacing, crossing his arms over his chest as he shrugged his shoulders hopelessly.

“We can’t know that,” he pressed out, looking anywhere but at Melissa.

The woman took a deep breath and walked over to Scott, placing her hands on his forearms and looking into his eyes. “And we can’t know if the ritual will kill him either,” she spoke with as much comfort in her voice as she could muster. “Would it really matter that he’s human if he’s still alive?”

Scott looked at his mother, forcing down a difficult swallow as he tried to find the words to say. “Derek was born a werewolf, mom,” he choked out. “He was never _human_ to begin with.”

Melissa didn’t know what to say to that, simply staring at her loving son. Even though she was told how everything came to be this way she still couldn’t understand some things. If there was such a thing as fate, if there was such a notion as destiny, then her beautiful, kind-hearted boy was meant to be a werewolf from the start, was meant to become an alpha, and he was meant to carry this burden.

And it broke her heart.

So many times in the past months she was forcefully reminded that her baby boy had to grow up so quickly. Scott and his friends faced life-threatening situations at an age when _no one_ should face death, when they should be worrying about school and homework, and finding their place in the world, when they should be having fun, and going to parties, and getting drunk, when they should be falling in love, and breaking up, and learning that life is all about opportunities and getting up when you’re kicked down.

“Mom, I…” words died on Scott’s tongue, a few tears trailing down his cheeks and Melissa’s bottom lip quivered as she wiped them away with the back of her hands, running her fingers through Scott’s hair. “I don’t want to see someone die again,” Scott pressed out tightly, wrapping his arms around Melissa and burying his face in her shoulder, gasping painfully when she returned his hug and rested her head against the side of Scott’s.

“I know, Scott,” she whispered, pressing a lingering kiss against his left ear. “I know.”

**cut**

John took a deep breath as he flopped down on his bed, placing his mug half-full of fresh, warm coffee on the nightstand beside a picture frame. A small smile tugged on his lips as he took it into his left hand, caressing the beautiful face of his wife and baby boy. Two pairs of almost identical eyes, shining like chestnut honey in the sun were looking at him with brightness and warmth, the lush full lips of his enchanting Claudia stretched in a beautiful grin, and the happy face of his little boy matching Dia’s line for line.

“I hope you can see him, Dia,” John murmured, tracing the strands of curly brown hair he hadn’t caressed in years. “He’s grown up into a fine young man.” John licked his lips, swallowing thickly as his eyes filled with tears and he looked heavenwards, lost and hopeful.

“I know I can’t protect him all the time,” he choked out tightly, blinking as tears trailed down his cheeks. “So watch over him, okay?” his lips twitched up a bit as his eyes slid closed.

_‘Watch over him…’_

**cut**

Peter sat at the foot of the bed, his hands clasped on his bent left knee, gaze never leaving the prone, sleeping figure of his mate. There were no traces of tears on Harry’s face anymore, his heartbeat was no longer frantic, and his breathing was steady and deep, and yet Peter couldn’t erase the image of this same man crying in his arms, clinging onto Peter as though letting go would mean losing his sanity and life.

Peter’s thoughts were a mess. He had no idea what was going on anymore. He used to know exactly what to, where to go, what to say, how to act. He used to know who’s an ally and who’s not to be trusted, but the lines have blurred so much in the past few days that he could make neither heads nor tails out of anything.

If this meant that he had his sanity back in full, if this meant that he was healed, then he really couldn’t decide if he wanted it. He knew that the world wasn’t black and white. He preferred to live in shades of grey, not caring what anyone thought and how they would react to his decisions.

And yet even when he _did_ live like that, he had known that it wasn’t the right way to live. There was _always_ someone there he had to think about, and after he came back from the dead, the many shades of grey started to blend, until they became fewer and fewer in number.

Peter had Derek to think about. Cora was not in Beacon Hills, and the chance she would ever come back was nonexistent, but she was alive and well, and living her life. Then there was this silly _pack_ of mismatched teenagers that seemed to have taken on the mantle of protecting Beacon Hills; something the Hale Pack had done for centuries.

And then there was Harry.

What to make of Harry?

Peter knew that they were mates. There was no denying that, and Peter didn’t _want_ to deny that. He remembered how much he loved Harry, and he _knew_ that there was a part of him that still loved the raven haired man. He knew that there was no way in hell that he would ever let Harry out of his sight, no way that he would ever let Harry be taken, _absolutely_ no way that Peter would allow them to be parted again.

And Peter knew that Harry truly loved him, but there was the undeniable fact that Harry in no way believed Peter would ever be able to love the wizard again. Harry was nowhere near the man he used to be, and it hurt Peter. It hurt because he remembered the lively man who could laugh freely, the mischievous, playful creature that took hold of Peter’s heart never to let go of it.

He remembered those amazing, emerald eyes shining bright with happiness and mirth, round with curiosity and glimmering with joy. He remembered those viridian depths darkening with passion, dilating with desire and need. He remembered that pale skin blushing light, rosy red, every muscle coiling as Peter played that beautiful body like a fine tuned instrument.

He knew exactly where to touch, where to kiss, where to lick and where to nip to make that perfect body arch off of the bed, those eyes widen as air hitched in straining lungs. He knew how to overwhelm Harry with pleasure, and he knew how to bring him down from the high, knew the exact amount of pressure he would have to apply with the tips of his fingers on exact parts of that amazing body to arouse and to soothe.

His lips tingled from the memory of being pressed against Harry’s own, his fingertips burned from the sensation of touching the warm, unblemished skin, and the pit of his stomach filled with scorching heat at the thought of being pressed against that body again, of feeling it arching into him, _begging_ to be touched, to be adored like only Peter knew to.

And yet there they were, one loving and thinking he isn’t worthy of being loved, and the other wanting to love and not knowing how to prove it.

“Pete?” The breathless murmur broke the trail of the werewolf’s thoughts and his head snapped up, tired icy orbs meeting a pair of sleep-dilated emeralds. Peter moved before he even realized what he was doing, coming to sit to Harry’s left, his left hand settling on the wizard’s right hip as his gaze raked over Harry even though Peter didn’t know what he was looking for.

“Are you alright?” he blurted out quietly, not knowing what else to say, and Harry groaned as his eyes slipped closed, eyebrows narrowing as he tried to make his brain wake up.

Harry stilled with a huff, eyes opening and focusing on Peter with rising awareness, and pale, slightly chapped lips parted as Harry squinted at the werewolf as though he was trying to connect the dots. “So it wasn’t a dream,” Harry muttered, relaxing into the bed, and Peter’s hold on the wizard’s hip tightened.

“It wasn’t,” he answered, licking his lips and swallowing slowly. “A lot of things happened in the past three days. The others are sleeping.”

The frown marring Harry’s face deepened, the wizard now completely awake, and he shifted a bit as he stared at Peter, the werewolf almost _seeing_ the giant questioning mark above Harry’s head.

“Why aren’t you sleeping too? You need rest as well,” Harry reprimanded quietly and Peter scoffed, cocking an eyebrow at the wizard.

“When my mate loses this nasty habit of wandering off and ending up half _dead_ , I _may_ actually get some rest occasionally.”

Peter realized he shouldn’t have said that the moment he spoke the first six words, but the sentence lingered in the air, the werewolf feeling as though it was echoing eternally, bouncing off of wooden walls, especially when Harry’s expression turned bland, and those emerald eyes dulled considerably.

It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that Harry closed in on himself, Peter’s casual mention of them being mates not having the expected outcome.

“Harry, listen to me,” Peter spoke as he shifted a bit, doing something he hadn’t done in almost a decade. He turned to face Harry fully, raising his legs on the bed and crossing them before he braced his elbows on his bent knees and entwined his fingers, his gaze never leaving Harry’s.

“Peter, please…” Harry sighed as he sat up and pulled himself backwards to rest against the headboard, ducking his head and fisting his hands in his lap.

“No,” Peter spoke before Harry could continue, and the wizard looked at the werewolf from under messy bangs, viridian orbs full of swirling shadows, “listen to me,” he insisted, and Harry’s lips pressed in a thin line. “ _We_ are _mates_ , and no amount of your self-depreciation and loathing will change that fact. I don’t know everything that happened to you. I don’t know about what you were forced to do. But I _know_ that you’re not the monster you think you are.”

“Don’t…”

“No,” Peter cut Harry off again, earning himself a slightly wide-eyed stare. “I _know_ you Harry, or did you forget about that?” Peter leaned closer as he squinted at the wizard. “Did you forget that you’ve told me _everything_ about yourself? That you told me everything you lived through, about everything and everyone you’ve lost? I _know_ you, and I _know_ that _those_ parts of you didn’t change, because if they _did_ you wouldn’t be here, you wouldn’t have gone with Stiles and the others to rescue Derek, you wouldn’t have fought against me retrieving my memories, and you wouldn’t have wanted to protect _all_ of us by making whatever deal you made with the Nemeton.”

Harry’s eyes widened even more if possible, the werewolf staring at Harry with such certainty that it made Harry’s heart beat that much faster.

“I’m not a good man, Harry,” Peter spoke firmly, silvery gaze diving into emerald orbs, and Harry felt as though he could _see_ the wolf surfacing slowly, a slight luminescent tinge appearing in the eyes the color of winter skies. “I did a _lot_ of bad things,” he tilted his head to the side a bit, watching intently as Harry licked his lips slowly, eyes following every move Peter made, and the werewolf watched as Harry swallowed thickly, _hearing_ the hitch in Harry’s heartbeat, _smelling_ the shift in Harry’s scent, and _feeling_ the increase in the warmth rolling off of Harry in uneven waves. “If I should follow your logic, then I wouldn’t be wrong to say that I don’t deserve you to love me-”

“Peter, no-” Harry blurted out, but before he could say anything Peter moved, suddenly straddling Harry’s legs, hands braced on either side of Harry’s head, and his face inches away from the wizard’s.

“I am a _murderer_ , Harry,” Peter whispered harshly, staring straight in Harry’s wide-eyes. “According to you, I don’t deserve you to love me, and yet you still _do_.” Peter moved even closer if possible, the tip of his nose brushing against Harry’s before he leaned in and traced the seam of Harry’s bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, a smirk tugging on the werewolf’s lips when he felt hands fisting on his chest.

“Why are you doing this?” Harry breathed out, staring in Peter’s eyes, searching for the answer to his question in those stormy depths.

“Because I can’t think of any other way to make you see that _I’m not letting go of you.”_ The words which passed Peter’s lips in a firm, strong, certain hiss sent a shiver down Harry’s spine, emerald eyes dilating as air hitched in the wizard’s lungs. “I’ve lost you once,” Peter pressed out through his teeth, although he sounded neither threatening nor hateful. “I won’t lose you again.”  

Even though it seemed Harry wanted to say something, it appeared as though he was unable to. His lips were parted, his eyes were wide, and his heart was beating so fast that Peter thought it would beat its way out of Harry’s chest.

But Peter didn’t have time to dwell on that because before he could utter another word, Harry moved forward and slammed his lips against Peter’s, moaning into the werewolf’s mouth, trembling hands fisting in Peter’s hair to hold him in place.

Not that Peter wanted to move.

Oh, no.

Out of all the things he expected Harry to say or do, this one was on the bottom of the proverbial list, and, by _god_ , Peter couldn’t find a single complaining bone in his body. They parted, gasping for air, dilated eyes locked in a heart-searing stare, unspoken words, _years_ of them, hanging in the air around them.

“I’m not leaving again,” Harry blurted out and Peter huffed, shaking his head as a smile tilted his lips. He rested his forehead on Harry’s, his hands wrapped around the wizard’s wrists, and no amount of practiced self-control could make Peter’s heart beat slower or help him steady his breathing.

“Damn right you aren’t,” he answered and Harry swallowed thickly, “and when we figure out what that _bitch_ did to Derek, when we get rid of her and figure out what to do about the _pest_ infestation we can expect in Beacon Hills, I’m making damn sure you won’t leave my sight for even a _second_.”

Not a second after Peter said that Harry froze up, and Peter moved back, eyebrows narrowing when he saw the horror in Harry’s eyes.

“What?” he asked and that terror-filled gaze settled on him, some sort of remembrance, some sort of horrifying memory darkening emerald eyes to almost black. “Harry, what is it?” Peter blurted out.

“Derek-” Harry whispered. “I know what’s going on with him.”

Peter stilled completely, the fact that Harry looked this terrified even after everything the wizard lived through telling Peter that the knowledge Harry acquired would in no way make the situation they were in any better.

“What is it?” Peter asked, _feeling_ the horror that grasped Harry slowly enveloping him as well.

“Derek…” Harry pressed out, bottom lip quivering as his eyes turned glassy. “Derek is dying…”

**cut**

**To Be Continued…**

 


	14. Touch

**The voting is still on!**

**Right now, Mpreg is more than a possibility and it appears as though there’ll be a romance between Lydia and Jordan!**

**I was thinking I could write a separate story for Mpreg. Like a short sequel. I think that’d be okay, right?**

**I hope you’ll enjoy this, since there’s a little treat for you in this chapter. Something I know you’ve all been waiting for.**

**Again, thanks to Fitz-Leo for making this chapter readable!!**

**Enjoy!**

**Ps. Just to warn you, Liam won’t appear in this story. While I like him enough to coo over him in the series, I still think that his appearance was merely planned to support Scott’s role as an alpha, which is entirely unnecessary in this story, so he won’t be appearing, okay?**

**Great!**

**Let’s go on with the story.**

**cut**

_“We have not touched the stars,_   
_nor are we forgiven, which brings us back_   
_to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes,_   
_not from the absence of violence, but despite_   
_the abundance of it.”_

_-Richard Siken, ‘Crush’_

**cut**

Stiles huffed before glancing over his shoulder at Scott, Kira and Lydia who sat one next to the other in the row behind the human teen. Earlier, when they came to school, Scott informed Stiles that he had already sent a message to Harry, Peter and Derek about the meeting he wanted to have at Deaton’s place after they’re done with classes.

Stiles wasn’t an idiot. He knew something was up the moment he met up with them and looked in their eyes. They knew something he didn’t, and it annoyed him, borderline _angered_ him because they refused to say anything before they all met up, Scott saying that he didn’t want to repeat himself more times than it was necessary and that this way they would be able to think of something together.

Another thing that annoyed Stiles was the surprising amount of new students that arrived to Beacon Hills, although it was more concerning than annyoing. He already sent a message to his dad with the names of the students, and John answered that he and Jordan would check them out.

Even though Stiles knew that answers would come soon enough, it didn’t exactly make him feel any better. He _knew_ something was wrong, but what he _didn’t_ know was _what,_ and since he didn’t know that he didn’t know how to prepare.

Sure, he had Scott, Lydia and Kira behind him, and in a way he knew they wouldn’t allow something bad to happen to him, but Stiles _hated_ not knowing what to expect. So it didn’t come as a surprise to the other three when Stiles didn’t speak a word to them throughout the day, even though he remained close to at least one of them, his silence concerning and quite surprising to the other teens.

Even though they never spoke of that to Stiles, they knew that he was still in some way affected by what happened to him, although they decided to give him time, to wait until he was ready to speak to them about the Nogitsune and what he had witnessed.

Unfortunately, Stiles was either a really good actor or he had the self-control of a _rock_ , because for the life of them, they couldn’t read him.

That changed since Harry came around. Stiles’ reactions were more open. No one knew what he and Harry talked about in the hospital, but it appeared to have had an effect on Stiles, the teen standing straighter, no longer bursting with excessive energy as he did weeks ago, once again showing the super-intelligent, hyperactive teen he once was, only now he was hardened by what they lived through, more serious and - in many ways - stronger, even though Stiles himself maybe couldn’t see that strength.

Scott knew that he wouldn’t be there without Stiles.

Lydia knew that she wouldn’t have made it without Stiles.

Kira? Well, she didn’t know him as much as the other two, but Stiles accepted her without a word, and she knew that they maybe wouldn’t have defeated the Nogitsune if it weren’t for Stiles’ analytical thinking and logic.

Not even _Lydia_ figured out the illusion while Stiles did, and that saved not only his life but their lives as well.

And they could see.

They could see the bond appearing between Stiles and Derek. Scott could _smell_ Derek and Stiles, and it was painful. It was so, so painful. Stiles and Derek deserved one another. They were each strong in their own right, and Scott knew that Stiles was the sole reason behind Derek finally opening up and letting them all in.

And that was why the knowledge they were now keeping from Stiles felt like thousands of knives stabbing into their hearts.

Because they knew that if they don’t manage to find a way to save Derek, if they don’t find a way to stop this ritual -- stop Kate -- they would - _Stiles_ would lose Derek.

And Kira, Lydia and Scott weren’t sure Stiles would survive that. He had survived a lot of things by now, but they weren’t sure he would survive losing Derek.

And that was why they hated Kate more than they thought it was possible.

And why they would stop her once and for all, no matter what it would take.

**cut**

Peter walked into Harry’s room in the Stilinski residence, coming to a slow stop in the doorway, two cups of steaming coffee carefully held in his hands, eyes the color of cloudy skies reflecting on the surface of a frozen lake taking in the form sitting in a wooden chair by the window, shadowed emerald orbs staring out into the distance.

It appeared as though Harry hadn’t noticed Peter enter since he neither moved nor changed his stance, tense shoulders remaining slightly hunched, strong arms crossed over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles, feet tucked under the chair, and his head was slightly ducked, fringe falling into those enchanting, soul-searing eyes, casting shadows over viridian depths which spoke so many things and yet showed nothing at all.

Peter breathed in through his nose walking over to Harry while placing both cups on the window pane, finding out that Harry actually _did_ notice him enter when the wizard glanced at him minutely, rosy lips curling into a faint smile that disappeared as fast as it came.

They have been silent for the past two or three hours, alone in the big house since Derek went back to his apartment after taking Stiles to school and John went to work. They hardly talked before, both succumbing to tiredness and all but collapsing on the bed, waking up only a couple of hours later with Peter curled around Harry, the sound of a hardly audible steady growl rumbling in his chest echoing through the room and vibrating against Harry’s back.

They hadn’t spoken a word since they woke up, the thoughts of Derek’s condition weighing heavily upon them, especially after receiving a message from Scott to meet up at Deaton’s place.

“How am I supposed to tell him?” Harry muttered into his chin, and Peter would have thought that Harry wasn’t even aware of speaking out loud if the wizard didn’t raise his head slowly and looked up at the werewolf with shadows swirling in emerald depths. “How am I supposed to tell him that there’s nothing we can do?”

Peter pressed his teeth together tightly, not having an answer to Harry’s question, the fact that there was a chance he would lose Derek in a short amount of time weighing on him like a ton of bricks on top of a god-damn _mountain_.

“And Stiles…” Harry looked out the window again, swallowing thickly, and Peter heard the wizard’s heartbeat stutter and air hitch within Harry’s lungs; remembering the way Stiles and Derek acted around one another last he had seen them together. Their relationship obviously changed, and Peter _hated_ the fact that they had nothing but bad news to tell them.

He didn’t want to know how Harry felt though. His wizard always felt things on a deeper level than Peter. Harry was always more sympathetic, more emphatic, feeling things other people felt in ways Peter couldn’t even _imagine_. It always made him wonder how Harry came to be a deputy, even more how he managed to be an Unspeakable because Harry had seen horrible things.

 _He has **done** horrible things,_ Peter recalled, hands clenching into fists by his sides. He _still_ didn’t know everything Harry lived through in the past ten years, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to either. It was enough for him to look at Harry to know that whatever happened to him was more than horrible, the obvious - at least to Peter - signs of trauma making him want to resurrect every single bastard that ever tortured or in any other way hurt Harry just to kill them in the most creative way possible.

Well… Peter never said he was _entirely_ sane, right?

“What am I supposed to do?” Harry wondered quietly, voice laced with sorrow and pain, and Peter narrowed his eyes at Harry, lowering himself to his knees and taking Harry’s hands between his. The wizard gave Peter his full attention, amazed at how attentive and supporting Peter was being.

“ _You_ are not supposed to do anything, Harry,” Peter spoke, staring straight into the emerald orbs, squeezing Harry’s hands for emphasis. “ _We_ \- _all_ of us - will think of something. We’ll find Kate. We’ll find a way to save Derek. _You_ will do nothing on your own, do you understand me?” He cocked eyebrows at Harry, eyes boring into those viridian depths as though he was attempting to put his point across with nothing but his gaze.

“You’re not alone, Ry,” the wolf spoke in a voice hardly above a whisper, feeling the shiver that shook Harry’s body at the nickname he hadn’t heard in over ten years, “and you don’t have to do anything on your own anymore.”

“But what if it’s something only I can do?” Harry murmured looking down at their joined hands, marveling at the fact that Peter’s felt calloused and rough, radiating comforting warmth and offering quiet strength, just like Harry remembered they did before.

“You won’t be alone,” Peter answered and Harry looked into his eyes, staring into them for a long moment and Peter had a feeling his maybe-lover was reading his mind, although he knew Harry wasn’t.

Harry promised Peter a long time ago that he would never, under any circumstance read Peter’s mind without explicit permission, and Harry was not one to break promises. A small smile tugged at Peter’s lips when he remembered that one time Harry proved just how much he tried to keep the promises he gave, going out of his way to make sure he didn’t fail the people he cared about.

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asked when Peter smiled and the werewolf shook his head, looking down at their hands as he wrapped his left around Harry’s right wrist, turning the wizard’s hand palm up.

Peter raised his right hand and traced the lines of Harry’s palm with the tips of his fingers, familiarizing himself again with the soft, warm skin.

“Just remembering the time you promised Cora and Derek that you’d take them to the ocean,” Peter murmured into his chin, licking his lips as he huffed before looking up, eyes glimmering with memories. “You stayed at the station until four AM after taking double shifts two days in a row.”

“I remember,” Harry whispered as he recalled the memory Peter spoke off. “It was Cora’s birthday that weekend, and Talia and Sebastian couldn’t make it. Laura didn’t trust her driving skills enough to take you all to the ocean, and you’ve lost your driver’s license because of speeding.”

“Right,” Peter nodded minutely, shifting his gaze to Harry’s hand again, flattening their palms as though he was measuring their hands.

“You came straight to the house from work. You didn’t even change from your uniform. You actually managed to trick us all into thinking that you actually managed to get some sleep the day before,” Peter laughed brokenly, shaking his head. “We spread out the blankets on the beach and I went to buy us all something to drink,” he raised his head and looked at Harry, eyes glowing with the warmth of fond memories and lips tilted up in a loving, teasing smile, “and when I came back Cora and Derek were already in the water and you were sleeping in the shade of the parasol. I remembered debating for almost fifteen minutes whether I should take your clothes off or not.”

“If I remember correctly, you _did_ come to that, even though I don’t know _how_ ,” Harry chuckled and Peter huffed.

“It wasn’t easy,” he drawled and looked up at Harry with a smirk tilting his lips, left eyebrow cocked teasingly. “You’re heavy when you’re relaxed.”

“Bastard!” hissed the wizard, hand slapping Peter’s shoulder while the werewolf snickered quietly.

Comfortable silence settled between them as Peter kept looking at their hands, feeling Harry’s eyes racking over the werewolf’s kneeling form.

“Do you think we’ll ever have that again?” Harry was the first to speak up and Peter looked up at him, finding the wizard looking at their hands with a wistful expression, eyes darkening with wanting and need.

“Do you want us to have that again?” the werewolf asked and Harry raised his head a bit, their eyes meeting in a meaningful stare.

Instead of answering, Harry pulled his hand from between Peter’s, cupping the werewolf’s face with a gentle touch as he leaned forward. He hesitated for a brief moment with his face inches away from Peter’s, Harry’s warm breath fanning over the werewolf’s cheeks, something very familiar coiling in the pit of his stomach.

Peter’s heart beat just a bit faster, air catching when Harry closed the distance between them, pressing his lips against Peter’s in a soft, chaste kiss, as though he was testing the waters. Peter’s hands flattened on Harry’s thighs, feeling the muscles flexing as he tightened his hold.

The werewolf suppressed a growl when he felt Harry trace the seam of his bottom lip with the tip of that nimble tongue, and Peter opened his mouth, taking control of the kiss, drawing a moan from Harry who dug his fingers into the tender skin behind Peter’s ears as though to hold him in place.

Acting on pure instinct and reflex, Peter slid his hands up Harry’s thighs and took a firm hold of slightly rounded hips, pulling the wizard out of the chair and down to straddle Peter’s thighs. The yelp Harry let go of turned into a choked up grunt when Peter dug his right hand in the raven strands on the back of Harry’s head, holding the wizard in place as he deepened the kiss, his left hand spreading on the small of Harry’s back, fingers teasing against the waistband of Harry’s trousers.

“Pete… Peter, we shouldn’t…” Harry warned, breathless and squirming in the hold of his lover.

The werewolf stopped the words from flowing down Harry’s lips by slamming his over them in a demanding kiss, his hands falling to Harry’s ass half a second before he jabbed his hips up, making Harry feel Peter’s growing erection, startling a moan from the wizard, especially since the action made Harry rub his own hardening cock against Peter’s stomach, warmth coiling in his stomach, his brain threatening to shut down.

“Why?” Peter bit out as he rolled his hips sharply as he nipped down Harry’s chin, the wizard wrapping his arms around Peter’s shoulders, blunt nails digging into the flexing muscles of Peter’s back. Harry threw his head back with a soundless gasp, eyes snapping open only to slide closed when Peter bit into the quickly pumping jugular vein hard enough to leave a mark but not to pierce skin.

Harry really, _really_ tried to find a reason why they _shouldn’t_ be doing this. Unfortunately - or fortunately - nothing came to mind, Harry’s thoughts becoming blank for the first time in a long, _long_ while as Peter groped his ass, manipulating Harry’s body into grinding down against him.

Peter growled when Harry’s tight, black button up shirt came in the way of him leaving more marks on that perfect, warm skin, and in the next moment Harry found himself on his back, faintly hearing the chair he has been sitting in clattering against the floor before he was distracted again by that pair of devilish lips meeting his, their teeth clacking and tongues pushing against one another, Harry’s hands tangling in Peter’s hair, every single piece of self-control, every single ounce of doubt and fear escaping into to back of his mind, giving place to need, passion and scorching, soul-searing desire.

Peter moved back, taking hold of the collar of Harry’s shirt only to tear it open, descending down upon Harry again before the wizard could complain, leaving those swollen lips seconds later in favor of littering kisses and nips down leanly defined chest.

Harry let go of a choked up, strained gasp when blunt teeth bit into one hardened nipple before soothing it with a rough tongue, big warm hands roaming his sides, callused fingers tracing the outlines of Harry’s abs and ribs.

The wolf was howling in the back of Peter’s head, demanding that he marks their mate before something else came between them to make an attempt to take Harry away from them again, but Peter pushed that thought away, ignoring his wolf’s displeased grumbling, because he knew Harry wouldn’t accept the mating mark at this point.

But _this_ Harry _would_ accept.

And Peter would make sure of that.

Harry hit his head back against the floor when Peter trailed kisses down the wizard’s stomach, one hand slipping up Harry’s straining torso to tease one nipple as Peter nibbled on one jutting hip-bone, leaving a bright red mark there, knowing it would drive Harry absolutely insane.

And he wasn’t wrong.

Harry’s right hand was already wrapped around Peter’s left wrist, the wizard’s right hand fisted in Peter’s hair pushing against it as though Harry didn’t know if he wanted Peter to move away or move lower.

With a dark chuckle full of promises which went over Harry’s head _completely_ , the werewolf pressed his right hand against the bulge in Harry’s trousers, eyes turning electric blue as he looked up, watching Harry arch his torso off of the floor with a guttural groan mixed with a mewl, the wizard planting his feet into the floor, thighs pressing against Peter’s shoulders.

Tucking his fingers under the waistband of Harry’s trousers, Peter gave them a sharp tug, the material tearing apart under his strength, and the sound which left Harry’s lips couldn’t be named or described as he collapsed against the floor, breathing as though he couldn’t fill his lungs with enough air.

Peter climbed over him, Harry’s right hand falling out of tousled brown locks to hit the floor above Harry’s head, the wizard moaning when lush lips covered his, nimble fingers slipping under his boxers to wrap around his aching member, smearing the pearly beads of pre-come over the head of his cock before tugging on it slowly, making every single muscle in Harry’s body coil.

Peter let go of a guttural groan as he wrapped his lips around the slowly bobbing Adam’s apple of Harry’s neck, feeling the shiver which wrecked Harry’s body, and Peter pressed his tongue against it, tasting salty, tender skin, his heart clenching at the obvious show of trust, because it would take so little effort - _so little effort_ \- to move his mouth just a bit to the left and dig his teeth into that tender skin, marking Harry as his forever.

But no.

There was too much between them, too many unsolved things, and despite the wolf howling in the back of Peter’s mind, despite his own need and desire, Peter wouldn’t do that to Harry.

Not before he was certain that the wizard would stay of his own free will.

Peter seemed to have lingered for too long, because in the next moment the werewolf was on his back, dilated emerald orbs staring down at him with a fire such as he had never seen in them, and Peter’s eyes widened when he heard a low, reverberating _purr_ echoing through the thick silence of the room.

It didn’t take long for Peter to figure out what happened.

This was the _Panther_. He was staring in the eyes of the merciless killer Harry was forced to become, the apex predator, the lone hunter, and Peter suddenly realized that _he_ has become _prey_.

Peter growled, baring his teeth, and Harry answered with a sharp hiss, pupils blown with only a thin line of luminescent green around it, almost no whites to be seen in those eyes staring at Peter as though Harry was about to devour him.

Harry loomed over Peter, hands with steadily sharpening nails settling on Peter’s shoulders, slowly slipping down to his chest before they ripped into the thin material of Peter’s shirt, tearing it apart. Peter wrapped his hands around Harry’s wrists and tugged them away from his chest, pulling Harry forward until their faces were inches apart.

“Down, kitty,” Peter growled and Harry purred deeply, arching his torso into Peter’s, rubbing their groins together, and Peter hummed, rolling his hips up.

Harry seemed beyond the point of answering with words, and Peter felt a spark of excitement surge up his spine when he felt sharpening eye-teeth scrape against his neck, a growl rumbling in his chest. His eyes widened when Harry purred nuzzling his cheek against Peter’s chest, soft raven strands tickling burning skin before Harry raised his head, smirking up at Peter as he started to move lower.

The werewolf cocked an eyebrow, for some reason trying to pretend as though he _wasn’t_ painfully hard, and he let go of Harry’s wrists, grunting and hissing when those sharp claws dug into his skin, leaving behind quickly healing, diagonal cuts as Harry slipped lower and lower until he reached the obvious tent in Peter’s pants.

Purring growing louder, Harry’s eyes glimmered, and Peter choked up when those succulent lips closed around the head of his cock, feeling the warmth and wetness of Harry’s mouth even through his trousers and briefs.

Harry moved back, tilting his head to the side like the overgrown _cat_ that he - _apparently_ \- is, and Peter could only gasp when a ripple of magic passed over him, leaving him gloriously naked in front of the wizard.

“You never _were_ patient,” Peter blurted out breathlessly, the sudden shock of cold air on the skin of his hard, hot flesh making his body tense up. With a determined grunt Peter flipped them over again, cutting off the displeased hiss Harry let go of by slamming his lips against Harry, moaning when those sharp fangs pierced his lips, making him taste blood.

Balancing his weight on his knees, Peter tucked his fingers inside Harry’s boxers and trousers and tugged them down, moving back to remove the offending pieces of clothing. After a short struggle with them, Peter threw the trousers and boxers to the side only to curse vividly when Harry gave him the slip, his flexible spine curling and bending until the slighter man was no longer pinned beneath the werewolf. Cursing, Peter jumped to his feet unfortunately taking long enough for Harry to launch himself at the older man, both falling on the bed in a mass of tangled limbs.

 

Harry hissed up at Peter meeting eyes glowing electric blue as the wolf pinned Harry’s wrists to the bed above the wizard’s head, clicking his tongue several times as Harry snapped his teeth at him.

“Now, now,” Peter drawled, nudging Harry’s nose with the tip of his own, black slits glaring up at him as Harry hissed threateningly with bared teeth, “I know you’re in there, Harry,” he all but purred. “Show me those pretty eyes,” Harry growled, bucking under Peter who chuckled and nipped lightly at the pale arch of Harry’s neck. “You know you can’t hide from the wolf.” Peter felt Harry tense up under him when he buried his face under Harry’s right ear, mouthing at the tender skin under his lips, his cock twitching when he felt Harry shiver beneath him.

“P - Peter?” Harry stuttered breathlessly, and if Peter wasn’t a werewolf he wouldn’t have caught it. He raised his head to look down at Harry, finding those familiar dilated eyes staring up at him, the wizard having successfully suppressed his counterpart into the back of his mind.

“Shhhhh…” Peter soothed lovingly, nuzzling his cheek against Harry’s, placing a tender kiss against the right corner of Harry’s kiss-swollen lips. “It’s okay,” he reassured Harry who stared at him in confusion, “that pesky panther though, _might_ give me some trouble.”

Harry breathed out sharply, laughing shortly as he shook his head. “I was being forced into submission for the good part of the past ten years,” Harry murmured in a slightly strained voice. “I don’t mind, but the panther part of me might struggle with this for a while.”

Peter stared in Harry’s eyes for a long moment, looking as though he was thinking hard about something. Not a moment later he moved back a bit, placing Harry’s hands on his shoulders before he placed his own on Harry’s hips and flipped them over, Harry’s eyes widening when he found himself straddling Peter’s hips.

“Peter, what are you-”

“It makes you uncomfortable when I’m on top-”

“No!” Harry insisted, cutting Peter off, but the werewolf would not be deterred.

“-and I really don’t mind this.” Harry choked up, a furious blush covering his cheeks as he stared down at Peter, blunt fingernails digging into strong muscles of Peter’s shoulders. “Hey…” Peter murmured rubbing Harry’s thighs, hips and sides, “I don’t know what happened to you, but I do have enough brain-cells to figure out that it wasn’t a walk in a park.”

“But that doesn’t mean…”

“I’m not letting you _top_ -top,” Peter drawled with a smirk, hands groping the firm globes of Harry’s ass as the werewolf flicked his hips up a bit, drawing a startled gasp from the wizard, emerald eyes fluttering closed, “but I think you remember how much I loved it when you were _on_ top.”

The blush on Harry’s face spread down his neck when he felt one finger teasingly circle the tight ring of muscle leading into him, and a quiet whimper escaped him when a shiver of warmth passed up his spine as something he hadn’t felt in _years_ coiled in his guts, his member twitching as Peter teased his hole lightly, rubbing soothing circles into Harry’s right thigh with his left hand.

Peter watched as Harry’s eyes slipped closed and the wizard bit into his bottom lip, stifling those quiet mewls Peter _loved_ hearing. He remembered every single sound Harry would make, remembered every move of that perfect body straddling him, remembered where to touch and how to kiss and when to bite to work Harry slowly into a frenzy before letting the wizard fall over the edge.

“Pete-” Harry gasped out, right hand snapping around him to grab a hold of Peter’s left wrist, stilling his actions, and for a moment Peter thought Harry would stop it all, but when those dilated emerald eyes opened, looking down at Peter with so many unnamed things shadowing those perfect orbs, Peter felt something clench around his heart.

Peter’s mouth went dry when he felt something warm and gooey cover his left hand as Harry slowly leaned over him, pressing his lips against Peter’s and pushing his tongue against the werewolf’s, drawing a deep, guttural moan from him.

“GAH!” Harry gasped, flailing as he almost fell over Peter, bracing his hands on the either sides of Peter’s head and fisting them in the cotton covers when Peter rubbed one finger against the wizard’s entrance before slowly pushing it in until the first knuckle, feeling the tensing of Harry’s body and the shiver which shook the strong form.

Peter pressed his teeth tightly together, staring at Harry’s face to distract himself from the roaring need to do this as quickly as possible and bury himself within that constricting warmth.

But one thing was stopping him.

He _remembered_ his first night with Harry as though it happened yesterday, and - as crude as this may sound - Harry wasn’t this tight then.

Slipping his right hand up to cup the back of Harry’s neck, he pulled the wizard down to connect their foreheads, teasing Harry into a kiss with nips and licks against plush, swollen lips. Harry gasped into Peter’s mouth when that long finger pushed deeper into him, making Harry arch his torso into Peter’s, spreading his hands over their heads, tugging on the covers to the point of almost tearing them.

“Fuck, Ry,” Peter bit out, pulling Harry’s head down until he hid his face in Peter’s shoulder, giving the werewolf a chance to nip and kiss along the straining tendons of Harry’s neck, _feeling_ more than hearing the rapid beating of Harry’s heart. “Didn’t you…”

“No,” Harry cut Peter off, raising his head a bit, resting his forehead against Peter’s cheek, eyes closed and lips parted as he gasped for air, body slowly moving to the shallow thrusts of Peter’s digit. “Not since that night… Not with anyone else…” he gasped out feeling Peter’s hand tangling into messy, black strands as he raised his head, a sardonic smirk tilting Harry’s lips, eyes filling with something akin to self-depreciation. “Not that - not that people did _try_ -”

“Damn it!” Peter hissed, slamming his lips against Harry as he pushed his finger all the way in, swallowing the moan that escaped Harry, feeling the wizard’s cock twitch where it was trapped between their stomachs. “Move up,” Peter mumbled and Harry nodded, slowly climbing to his knees, and moving up only to cry out when Peter’s right hand wrapped around Harry’s straining cock.

Harry fumbled to grab a hold of Peter’s wrists, throwing his head back when he felt Peter curl towards him, warm lips wrapping around the head of Harry’s weeping member at the same time as Peter pushed his finger deeper into Harry’s constricting heat.

The wizard felt fire slowly enveloping his body, igniting in the very center of his soul, scorching whatever coherent thought was still left in his mind. He could do nothing but feel, the sting of his entrance being penetrated fading in face of pleasure given to him by Peter’s mouth and tongue.

Peter had a difficult time stopping himself from flipping them over and burying himself deep within the tight channel clamping around his finger, doing his best to concentrate on anything else, listening carefully to choked up gasps escaping Harry’s lips, on the jerky motions of Harry’s body, on the taste of Harry on his tongue, stomping down on the wolf’s howls of ‘ _mate’, ‘claim’, ‘knot’_ echoing through his mind.

Harry’s scent was overwhelming him, pouring into Peter’s every pore, etching itself into every _atom_ of his being, wrapping around him like a pair of huge, soft wings as though hiding him from the world. It felt as though everything he did, every mistake he ever made was being washed out of him, the warmth burning away at what remained and creating him anew.

Harry cried out breathlessly when another finger entered him, and Peter twisted his wrist _just right_ , sending a surge of almost forgotten pleasure through Harry’s body, leaving him dangling on the very edge of his upcoming orgasm.

Peter opened his eyes, looking up at Harry, moaning around the thick length in his mouth at the sight of the wizard’s arched torso, head thrown back with the sunlight breaking through the window behind Harry dressing him in an ethereal glow. Strands of raven hair danced around Harry’s head, every single tendon in the wizard’s neck straining, perfect skin tinting with a faint blush as passion and desire unraveled him fragment by fragment.

Feeling Harry’s body slowly adjusting to the intrusion, Peter added another finger, his patience slowly running out, but his cock twitched and every muscle in his body tensed up when the wizard gasped, his head falling forward, eyes almost black with need looking down at Peter and taking his breath away.

He allowed Harry’s hard length to slip out of his mouth, hitting his head back against the bed as he thrust his fingers in and out of Harry, twisting his right hand around Harry’s member, staring up at the face of his mate, cutting it into his memory as though he wanted to make sure nothing would ever be able to erase it again.

“Pete… Please…” Harry breathed out, and Peter let go of a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a whine. The moment Peter’s fingers slipped out of Harry and down to the werewolf’s aching cock to spread what conjured lube was still left over it, Harry moved back, hardly able to keep himself on his knees, his hands landing on Peter’s chest, fingers digging into hard muscles.

Peter placed his right hand on Harry’s hip, aligning the head of his cock with Harry’s entrance, but before Peter could do more - like try to make sure Harry didn’t hurt himself - the wizard started lowering himself on the hot member, erasing all thought from Peter’s mind and making air hitch in his chest.

Peter’s hold on Harry’s hips was certain to leave bruises, the werewolf’s lips falling open as he curled towards Harry, eyes slipping closed as nails started turning into claws and teeth sharpened into fangs, jaw starting to jut out as the wolf threatened to take hold.

“Pete… Peter!” the werewolf’s eyes snapped open and he breathed out, electric blue eyes staring up in dilated emerald orbs, rosy lips parted as Harry trembled on top of Peter, his nails digging into Peter’s chest.

Without thinking about it Peter sat up, muffling the startled yelp of pain that escaped Harry by kissing him deeply, slipping his hands to Harry’s waist and holding him in place, the wizard fisting his in Peter’s sweat-matted hair.

Their lips remained connected, breaths mixing between them, eyes heavily lidded as they trembled within the other’s hold.

Ten years…

Ten years of not being touched.

Ten years of loneliness.

Ten years of yearning for something.

And there they were now.

“Your wolf is showing,” Harry breathed out, slipping his hands lower to trace the sharp edges of Peter’s jaw with the tips of his thumbs, rubbing small circles in the back of Peter’s head with his fingers.

Peter swallowed thickly rubbing his hands up and down Harry’s sides, feeling the rhythmic clenching of the tight heat clamping down on his cock.

And yet he didn’t want to move.

This moment… Peter didn’t want it to end. He didn’t want to let go of Harry. He wanted to stay right there forever, with this wizard he _knew_ would be his until their deaths. He wanted to ignore everything else, let the world go on without them. He wanted for everything to leave them alone, leave them locked within this moment when everything seemed alright, even though it wasn’t.

“I am _never_ letting go of you again,” Peter growled, sounding more like a beast than a man, hearing air hitch somewhere in Harry’s throat, following a sound that was something between a whimper and a purr.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry answered, voice broken and hardly louder than a whisper, and Peter couldn’t hold back anymore.

He rolled his hips slowly, catching the gasp that escaped Harry, and the werewolf placed his hands on Harry’s hips, helping him rise up a bit before pulling him down, the two quickly finding a slow rhythm, their bodies moving together as though they remembered this.

It was so easy, came so naturally, that it left them both breathless, Harry wrapping his arms around Peter’s shoulders and resting his head on the side of Peter’s, the werewolf’s thrusts growing quicker as he grabbed a hold of that pert little ass, spreading the cheeks wider. He buried his nose under Harry’s ear, breathing in the wizard’s scent, knowing neither would last much longer.

Peter cursed under his breath when he felt his knot taking place, lifting Harry just a bit higher, jabbing into the tight heat with shallow thrusts, the head of his cock jamming into Harry’s prostate, not wanting to hurt Harry by knotting him now.

Harry sensed it, and even through the haze pleasure he only remembered during the torturous ten years of his life, he moved back, placing his hands on Peter’s chest and pushing the werewolf on his back. It happened so fast that it startled Peter, his hands slipping to quivering thighs, and his eyes widened when Harry bounced on top of him, the wizard throwing his head back before almost collapsing on top of Peter, barely managing to holding himself up by bracing his hands on his lover’s chest, when the werewolf’s knot passed the tight ring of muscle leading into Harry’s warmth.

As though that was the only thing he needed, Harry tensed up, spilling pearly strings of come over Peter’s stomach, and the werewolf choked down a howl when Harry’s hot channel clamped down on him, milking him for all he was worth. Seconds later Peter was coming, his claws piercing pale skin and drawing a whimper from Harry whose whole body was tense and shivering, shoulders heaving with each deep breath he took as Peter’s thick cum filled him, the knot making it impossible for it to spill out.

Getting a semblance of control over himself, Peter managed to open his eyes, his heart beating miles per minute only to stutter when he saw the whispers of pain in the lines of Harry’s face, even though - if Peter wasn’t paying close attention - he wouldn’t have seen it.

“Idiot,” he muttered, spreading his hands on Harry’s thighs, not even noticing at that moment that the cuts he made with his claws already healed, leaving behind only smeared beads of blood.

Harry opened his eyes and breathed out only to see something black pumping through the veins on Peter’s arms, and a small smile tilted the wizard’s swollen lips, arms trembling with the effort to holding him up.

“Come here,” Peter murmured as he took a hold of Harry’s wrists and lightly tugged on them, and Harry lowered himself to rest on Peter’s chest, sighing in content as he tucked his head under Peter’s chin. “You know that you didn’t have to do that,” murmured the werewolf, wrapping his arms around Harry before he slipped his hands down to the small of Harry’s spine, rubbing soothing circles into tense muscles, remembering that this helped Harry chase off the dull throbbing of having Peter’s knot inside him.   

“And you know that I never minded,” Harry answered in a sated, drowsy voice, raising his head a bit to look in Peter’s eyes, and even though there was a silly small smile tilting Harry’s lips there was something akin to sadness in Harry’s eyes, and Peter felt his heart clench within his chest.

But instead of saying something - because Peter knew what Harry was still thinking - he raised his left hand to cup the side of Harry’s head and brought the wizard closer, pressing his lips against Harry’s in a tender, loving kiss.

“Are you alright?” Peter murmured against those plum petals and Harry nodded as he swallowed thickly.

“The cuts already healed,” he commented as though it was something normal and Peter recoiled, glancing down at Harry’s right thigh, eyebrows meeting the line of his forehead when he saw that indeed, there was not a single trace of injury on pale skin, dusted with hardly visible short hairs.

“That’s new,” Peter muttered into his chin and Harry gave a noncommittal sound, resting his head on Peter’s shoulder, and silence settled between them, the two breathing together, hearts beating calmly and bodies slowly coming down from the high.

“Peter we need to move,” Harry spoke up after a few moments and Peter frowned, worried because of Harry’s tight voice.

“What is it?” he asked as Harry rose up, Peter following, narrowed eyes racking over Harry’s torso and face.

“Cramp, cramp, cramp!” blurted out the wizard in a hiss and Peter’s eyes widened, and he quickly rolled them over, Harry immediately spreading his right leg while Peter placed his hand on the wizard’s hip, massaging it slowly.

Moments later Harry sighed only to wince again when he felt the softening member slowly slip out of him, glancing up when Peter let go of a sigh of relief. Before Harry even had a chance to _think_ about moving away, Peter wrapped his arms around him, throwing his left leg over Harry’s and pulling the wizard as close as he could go, not seeing the way Harry’s eyes widened in slight surprise but feeling the minute tensing of the wizard’s body.

“We still have some time until we need to show up at the clinic,” Peter muttered, deciding not to comment on it since Harry almost instantly relaxed against him. The werewolf felt a shiver of magic pass down his spine and he knew without needing to look that Harry had cast that tricky little spell to see the time.

Although he _did_ have a question for the wizard.

“We have another hour until we need to move out,” Harry answered and Peter hummed.

“Since when don’t you need your wand?” he asked and Harry shrugged his shoulders lightly.

“I was forced to learn,” he murmured. “It didn’t work properly with the Collar so I had to learn how to use wandless magic completely otherwise I would have blown myself up. When I was in the headquarters of the Organization, I was allowed to use magic for as long as it wasn’t aimed at anyone or anything. I learned to shift into my animagus form first, thinking I’d at least have a way out of _pesky_ situations, but it turned out I couldn’t. I was allowed no more than three spells per mission, and more often than not it took one to kill the target and the other two I’d use to either reach the target or get out of there. After a while I just started turning into the panther when my _captors_ became annoying. They saw no sense intalking to an animal so they’d leave me alone.”

Peter nodded minutely, closing his eyes as he pulled Harry closer, burying his nose in the wizard’s hair and breathing in his scent now mixed with Peter’s own, which pulled a small smile to Peter’s lips. He was about to say something when he noticed the steady beating of Harry’s heart and the slow rise and fall of Harry’s shoulders, warm puffs of air tickling the skin of Peter’s chest.

Huffing and shaking his head, Peter pulled Harry even closer, nuzzling his chin against the soft strands of hair, and closed his eyes, dozing off quickly enough.

**cut**

Scott, Stiles, Lydia and Kira walked into the clinic, the alpha sniffing the air discreetly, finding out that the others were already in the back room, so he locked the door behind them, turning the sign around so it said ‘closed’.

He moved to the front of the group glancing at Stiles who had yet to say a word since that morning, the human teen lost in his own thoughts, most probably going through everything that happened trying to figure out what the other three were hiding from him.

They walked into the back room finding the adults of their group already sitting in their respective chairs. Their gazes immediately settled on Harry who gifted them all with a small smile, their eyes widening at the way the wizard seemed to be unconsciously gravitating towards Peter, sitting as close as he could to the werewolf without actually touching him.

And Peter appeared to be no different. He was sitting relaxed in his chair, long, lean legs crossed in front of him and his right arm resting on the back of Harry’s chair, left hand cupped around one raised knee.

Harry’s hands were clasped between his thighs, and he seemed to be having serious trouble with stopping his legs from hopping with excess energy.

“We’re all here,” Harry murmured, straightening in his seat and glancing towards Peter who sighed and sat up, crossing his arms over his chest and ducking his head a bit, his eyes glancing towards Derek who was staring at the ground with an unreadable stare.

“Why don’t you take seats and we can begin,” Deaton offered, and for a few minutes there was rapid movement in the room, everyone grabbing chairs from the waiting room and settling around, Stiles placing his chair between Derek and John, Lydia settling to Melissa’s right with Kira placing her chair to Lydia’s right, and Scott took his place to Harry’s left.

The young alpha looked around the room, his gaze landing on Derek who frowned at Scott when he saw hesitance and smelled the fear and worry on the teen wolf.

“Scott, what is this about?” Derek asked, exchanging a glance with Stiles when he saw Lydia, Kira and Melissa look at Scott with almost matching pained expressions, his heart sinking into his stomach when he looked at Harry and found the wizard looking at him with dull, pain-filled eyes.

“There’s a lot we need to talk about,” Scott pressed out, not knowing how to just come out and say it.

“I’ve given the list of new people you’ve sent me to Jordan,” John spoke up, looking at his son who nodded at him. “He’ll have their backgrounds by tomorrow morning.” The sheriff turned towards Lydia and the banshee sat straighter. “Jordan also said that he would like to check out the house of the wendigo to see if there’s anything that could give us any clue about what we could be dealing with.”

“I can go with him,” Lydia offered and John nodded with a small smile.

“I thought you could. If I understand correctly, you can _hear_ things,” he spoke even though he didn’t sound happy with asking this of Lydia. “I was hoping you could go with him and see if you two find something.”

“I won’t mind,” Lydia answered, shifting in her seat a bit, her hands clasped in her lap.

“Harry, I would like you to come to the hospital with me,” Melissa spoke up and Harry looked at her with a confused frown. “I’d like to do some tests on you to see what happened to you.”

“There’s no need for that,” Harry answered, offering a small smile, strained as it was. “What happened to me was…” he hesitated, glancing towards Peter. A moment later he took a deep breath and shook his head. “The Nemeton sensed my power,” he finally said and looked up, his gaze distant and not meeting anyone else’s. “What happened is that… It offered me a deal.”

“A deal?” questioned Stiles, staring at Harry with wide eyes full of poorly concealed curiosity. Stiles leaned forward with hands clasped between his thighs, legs hopping minutely until Derek placed his left hand on Stiles’ right knee stilling him immediately, earning a sheepish smile from the human teen.

“Yes,” Harry nodded before he took a deep breath, holding it for a moment, “The Nemeton would take everything - my scars, my injuries, my pain… the guilt,” he glanced towards Peter who frowned at him, and Harry forced down a difficult swallow and looked at the ground, “and in exchange I would channel the Nemeton’s power towards something useful so that it doesn’t serve as a beacon anymore. The damage that has been done by now can’t be undone. The creatures that are already moving towards Beacon Hills - and those that are already here - won’t leave just because I’m _grounding_ the Nemeton’s power. But it won’t be as wild anymore.”

When Harry stopped talking and glanced at Derek, the werewolf tensed up, because it was obvious that there was something Harry didn’t want to tell them.

“What else happened?” Peter was the one who spoke up and Harry looked at him, everyone frowning when they saw Harry’s skin grow pale.

“It… The Nemeton also told me what’s wrong with Derek - what Kate did to him.” The silence that settled over the room after Harry said that was deafening with the group tensing up visibly while Harry’s shoulders hunched at he looked at Derek and Stiles with pleading emerald eyes, as though he was already _begging_ them to forgive him something that wasn’t even his fault.

“The ritual Kate used on you - it is meant to purify humans, to erase their guilt, to strip them of all their strengths until only the bare truth remains,” Harry spoke as though he was reciting, his voice tight and strained, and he swallowed thickly before meeting Derek’s eyes, his own appearing dull and dead, as though he was trying to protect himself from the horror settling in Derek’s and Stiles’ wide eyes. “When that is revealed - when you lose all your power and become completely human - you will be weighed. If you are weighed worthy you will live,” a shiver of excitement passed down everyone’s back only to disappear with Harry’s following words, “if not you will die.”

One could hear a pin drop.

“What?” Stiles pressed out, utterly still, wide, fear-dilated honey orbs staring at Harry in pure horror, and the wizard felt like a clawed hand pierced his heart.

“Stiles, I swear to you on everything that I am that I will do everything in my power to save Derek, but I _can’t go against Deep Magic_ -”

“What do you mean you can’t go against it?” the human teen jumped to his feet in rage and fear.

“Stiles-”

“No!” the teen’s voice broke and he looked down at Derek, completely missing the werewolf’s frightened expression as fear and horror gripped the human teen’s heart. He looked at Harry again, frantic and borderline panicking, hands fisted by his sides, and the wizard appeared as though all strength was drained from him, facing the teen with nothing but resignation, knowing without needing to read Stiles’ mind how he was feeling in that moment. “How do you mean you _can’t go against deep magic_! You’re a wizard! You _are_ magic! You’re supposed to be able to do _everything_!”

“I’m not omnipotent, Stiles!” Harry shouted, looking to the side with a huff before he looked at Stiles. “ _Humans_ are not meant to trifle with Deep Magic! It’s old and powerful, and it _demands_ a sacrifice! No witch or wizard has ever been able to use Deep Magic without paying a high price. In these days it can only be accessed in certain points of the world, La Iglesia being one of them and the Nemeton being another. Deep Magic has _rules_ that _cannot be broken_. If anyone attempts it means certain death-”

“So what - we’re - we’re just supposed to _wait_?!” Stiles cried out, tears filling his eyes, whole body trembling, and all of a sudden Derek was on his feet pulling Stiles into his arms and wrapping them around the shivering form, the others appearing too stunned by Stiles’ outburst to do anything, John sitting frozen in his place, the fact that his son was passing the same thing John did when he found out that Claudia was dying making his mind go blank.

Stiles sagged against Derek, hands fisting on the werewolf’s back, and Derek buried his nose in Stiles’ shoulder, breathing in his scent.

“Calm down,” Derek murmured, voice tight and wavering. “We’ll figure this out, just like we always do.”

“How?” Stiles pressed out as he moved back and out of Derek’s hold, flailing his arms as he looked at the other teens. “You knew about this! You found out and you didn’t-”

“We didn’t know how to tell you,” Lydia spoke up, pale and in obvious shock, Kira avoiding Stiles’ wide-eyed stare by ducking her head and Scott staring at his best friend with an apologizing look.

Harry looked at Peter when the werewolf placed his hand on the wizard’s thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze, although who it was meant for was not something Harry knew.

“Stiles, you need to calm down,” Derek said, even though it was quite obvious he was struggling as well, and the human teen looked at him, eyes Derek could stare in forever looking at him wide, glassy and pleading. “Panicking now will get us nowhere.”

“But Derek-”

“Harry said that once I lose my power I will be _weighed_ -”

“What does that even mean!” Stiles cut him off, voice cracking as he looked at Harry who swallowed thickly.

“It means that he will be judged,” he answered in a deep, tight voice.

“By what?” the teen blurted out, glancing from Derek to Harry, and the werewolf knew that wheels were already turning in Stiles’ head, the younger man trying to come up with something - _anything_ that would save Derek.

“Tezcatlipoca,” Harry answered, appearing worn down by everything. “The Mirror God will weigh Derek and determine if he is worthy of life.”

“And what will be his arguments?” Stiles asked, hands hovering in the air as though he wanted to grab a hold of the werewolf and never let him go, but something was stopping him.

“His life,” Harry answered, “everything he did, every choice he made, every opportunity he took and missed. Everything…”

The silence that settled among them was deafening, each sinking into their own thoughts.

“But the Nemeton told me another thing,” everyone looked at Harry to find the wizard looking at Derek, the werewolf turning towards the older man, “I asked if there was any way to save you,” Harry stopped to lick dry lips, and the werewolves could hear the mad beating of his heart. “The Nemeton said that what will save you is your heart.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Derek asked, looking at Stiles when the teen wrapped his right hand around Derek’s left wrist as though he was afraid the older man would disappear at any moment.

“I don’t know,” Harry shook his head, “but I _will_ find out.” He looked straight in Stiles’ eyes, feeling the tightening of Peter’s hold on his thigh but ignoring it. “I was never one for following rules,” a strained smirk tilted Harry’s lips and a weak chuckle escaped him, “I will do my best to find a way to ensure that Derek survives this.”

“But you said that one shouldn’t-”

“Like I said,” Harry cut Stiles off, his lips tilting up into a small smile, “I never _did_ follow rules.” The wizard turned to look at Peter finding the werewolf staring at him with a scrutinizing stare. “And I don’t want to watch anyone I care about die if I can do something to help them.”

“But you will need to be careful,” Deaton spoke up for the first time since this conversation started and everyone looked at him, finding the Emissary staring at Harry with knowing eyes, as though it was obvious to him what Harry was intending to do, leaving everyone else guessing. “You know better than I do what it means to go against the rules of Deep Magic, Harry. It _could_ mean your certain death.”

While dread filled the hearts of everyone in the room, Peter, Stiles and Derek jumping to contradict whatever Harry wanted to say, the wizard merely chuckled, his eyes darkening and shoulders straightening, lips curling into a smirk that sent shivers even down Peter’s spine.

“I have survived the killing curse _twice_ , Alan,” Harry drawled darkly, eyes turning luminescent green, “and I _hate_ to lose. And while I _do_ believe that Derek will beat this, that Tezcatlipoca will judge him as worthy, I will not leave it to chance. If I find a way to ensure Derek’s survival, I _will_ do it.”

“Harry-”

“No, Peter,” Harry pressed out, head snapping around to face Peter head on, “I’m not letting Derek-”

“I’m not saying that you should,” Peter bit out. “He’s my nephew. Do you really think I’d let him die?” he blurted out and Harry’s eyes narrowed at him, the others falling silent, staring at the heated exchange.

“There’s nothing you can do, Peter,” Harry spoke, slowly shaking his head.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t help you. It doesn’t mean you have to do anything alone,” Peter answered, eyes turning electric blue for a mere second in an obvious show of dominance, which didn’t pass unnoticed by anyone, the group of people tensing up when Harry’s pupils turned to slits and he ducked his head a bit, even the _humans_ in the room hearing the quiet, threatening growl as the panther showed its head.

Peter’s jaw shifted as his eyes turned luminescent, the wolf showing in the steely gaze, neither backing off, the air filling with something heavy.

“Rein the _cat_ in, Harry,” Peter pressed out through his teeth, and it was as though he slapped Harry, the wizard recoiling a bit, blinking rapidly, a slight blush tinting his cheeks and making everyone breathe it, unaware that they were holding their breaths.

“This might propose a problem,” Harry muttered into his chin, shifting in his seat a bit, knees pressing together as he looked away from Peter, eyebrows narrowing.

Peter scoffed and rolled his eyes, sitting back into his chair and throwing his right arm over Harry’s shoulders, resting it on the back of Harry’s chair.

“If anything it makes it more interesting,” he drawled and Harry glanced at him sideways, eyebrows disappearing under messy bangs.

“Cats and dogs don’t mix,” Harry answered equally, and the others felt as though the wizard was testing to waters so to say, like he was gauging Peter’s reaction.

“I’m a _wolf_ , not a _dog_ ,” Peter wrinkled his nose in distaste and it was Harry’s turn to scoff, the wizard sitting back in his chair, crossing his arms and legs and looking at Peter sideways, lips curling into a small smirk.

“Could have fooled me,” he muttered, earning a glare from Peter and startling choked up laughter from everyone else, the atmosphere shifting just a bit.

“Do you really think you can help Derek?” Stiles asked and Harry looked at him, offering a small smile to the teen.

“I believe that Derek will prove himself worthy,” he spoke with full certainty, Stiles’ eyes widening for the smallest of fragments while Derek seemed to stand taller, strength that couldn’t been seen in his eyes ever since Harry revealed the werewolf’s condition slowly returning, “but I won’t leave it in the hands of an ancient _deity_ \- god or anything else, if I can do anything about it, especially since we have Kate to worry about as well.”

“Not to mention the concerning growth of Beacon Hills’ population,” John drawled, nose wrinkling in distaste. “I think it’s safe to say that every single man and woman that moved into Beacon Hills in the past month can be considered a creature, right?” he looked at Harry who nodded.

“They come here looking for power,” he said exchanging a glance with Scott. “They might not know that Beacon Hills is claimed territory, which means that there’s a chance we’ll be facing conflict.”

“And hunters will flock into Beacon Hills like moths drawn to a flame,” Peter drawled dramatically, obviously disgusted by it.

“It there anything we can do about that?” Scott asked and Harry hummed, shrugging his shoulders.

“I know a Repelling Charm I can turn into a Ward of sorts, but it’ll take me at least two or three days. If it works, it should compel every creature living in Beacon Hills with bad intentions to move out as quickly as possible…” Harry hesitated, looking heavenwards shortly before he raised his shoulders, lips thinning for a moment, “If it _works_. We can’t know anything for sure when Deep Magic is in play.”

“And what about Kate?” they all looked at Kira when she brought out - they dared say - their _biggest_ problem, if for no other reason than because she was the _source_ of everything bad in Beacon Hills. “What are we going to do about her?”

“She’s in _Mexico_ , licking her wounds,” Stiles spoke up, crossing his arms over his chest, although he still stood as close to Derek as he could without actually plastering himself to the werewolf.

“And unfortunately, none of us can go to Mexico to look for her,” Harry muttered making everyone frown at him in confusion. The wizard cocked an eyebrow at them, equally confused by their reaction, only for his lips to form a small ‘o’ as he remembered that they didn’t know what he did. “I can’t leave Beacon Hills for more than a few days at a time because of my deal with the Nemeton, you guys need to go to school, and Melissa, John and Deaton have to work-”

“And I’m not letting Harry out of sight on pure principle,” Peter drawled before anyone could question why Harry didn’t mention him, making the wizard roll his eyes with a huff while the others raised eyebrows at the oldest werewolf among them.

“And there’s that,” Harry bit out under his breath, earning a slight glare from his werewolf lover. “But there’s a solution to that as well.”

“What solution?” John asked, leaning towards Harry.

“There are people I can call that owe me favors-”

“Favors or lives?” Peter blurted out only to hiss and jerk in his seat a moment later when Harry slapped the werewolf’s thigh.

“Hush, you,” he muttered and Peter looked away from him, neither noticing the small smiles tilting the lips of their company which quickly disappeared when Harry looked away from Peter. “Braeden is one of them. I’ll contact them as soon as possible and ask them to look for Kate and report to me of her whereabouts and actions.”

“So that’s handled,” Stiles spoke up and Harry nodded, “but what do we do about everyone that moved in while you put up the wards?”

“We’ll just have to be careful,” Harry said. “I don’t think we should engage in conflict with anyone, because hunters are sure to come, if they’re not here already, and not all hunters follow the Code. There’s a charm I can put on objects you always carry that can either change color or grow warm when you’re close to someone that’s not human, that way you’ll know who to steer away from or keep an eye on.”

“That would be great!” Lydia and Kira spoke at the same time while Scott and Stiles nodded enthusiastically copied by Melissa and John.

“It would be very useful in the hospital,” Melissa said. “We’d be able to avoid another incident like with the Wendigo.”

“Wristwatches are most useful when it comes to that,” Harry said.

“We’ll make sure to come by some,” John said while Harry looked at Deaton who offered a small smile.

“The clinic is safe and I have my own ways to detect creatures, so you don’t have to worry about me,” the Emissary said and Harry nodded in understanding.

“Another thing,” the wizard spoke up and looked at Derek who frowned at him in slight confusion, “Derek, I don’t want you to be alone.”

“What-”

“We can’t know if Kate knew what she was doing when she used the ritual on you,” Harry cut Derek off and the werewolf tensed up. “She might come after you again, and we need to know when you start losing your powers. While I won’t ask you to sit aside and wait for us to solve anything, we need to be aware of everything so that we can act appropriately.”

Derek grunted in agreement although he didn’t look happy with it, and Harry gifted him with a small, grateful smile.

“And John?” the wizard addressed the sheriff who raised his head, looking at the wizard with a small expression of surprise at being addressed. “I know this goes against the law and against your own beliefs, but Lydia and Stiles need to have a way to protected themselves. I’ll supply them with unmarked weapons. You will teach them how to use them.”

“Harry-”

“John,” Harry cut the man off, facing John’s harsh stare with a calm one. “Yes, they are young. I was younger than them when I was first forced to fight for my life, and believe me if someone said to my guardians what I’ve told you now, many people would have been saved. They are not children anymore. You are all part of a word that is beautiful in its own right, yet more dangerous than anything you can imagine. _Make sure they survive_ ,” Harry stressed out, and one could almost see realization downing in John’s eyes.

He looked up at his son who stood beside Derek, both of them looking at John with determined expressions and proud stances. John shifted his gaze to Lydia and Kira, finding them looking at him with that same strength, and even though his heart ached because of it, he knew that Harry was right.

“What were you thinking?” John acquiesced albeit with an obvious inner conflict, and Harry offered a small reassuring smile.

“Guns, knives, self-defense,” he listed. “I can transfigure the basement in your house into a shooting-range and a training room.”

“I think we should all be there,” Scott spoke up and Harry nodded in agreement.

“But you shouldn’t neglect your studies. This is your last year of high-school and you kids need to think about your future as well, so we’ll make a schedule.”

“I’m all in,” Stiles said, his words followed by everyone agreeing.

“I’ll ask Jordan to join us,” John said, looking to Harry for approval. “He has experience in field-combat and he’s a great shot. I’m not all that good with knives though.”

“I’ll take care of that then,” Harry said and glanced at the faces around him. “Well, I guess we have a lot of things to do.”

And even though the situation was nowhere near good, it appeared as though no one really minded.

They had a plan.

All they had to do now was make it work.

And they would.

**cut**

**To Be Continued…**


End file.
